


Knife in Hand

by Amberly, orphan_account



Series: The Broker's Porch [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Abuse of Power, Assassination, Consent Issues, Federal Agents, Gender Issues, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Organized Crime, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, child trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 97,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberly/pseuds/Amberly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Duo learns there's a hit out on him, he turns to the only person in Chicago he believes capable of helping him. But will the cost of the Broker's help be too high?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! Many thanks to Clara for her amazing Beta, and to Maeve, for her endless encouragement.

His work often began as a whisper, a rumor, a bit of information traded for another. He understood the value of it, the weight it carried. How far people would go to get a tidbit for themselves. It was something he had learned many years ago as a child, and he used it to build a reputation, to form an alias that kept him safe while striking fear into the hearts of those who stood against him.  

It helped his business that he didn’t care who used the information he sold. Lives were lost and saved in turn from the information he got his hands on, and as long as it didn’t affect him directly, he didn’t care. 

When he’d first heard a rumor about Winner wanting Zechs’ favorite toy dead, he hadn’t cared. He knew Zechs wouldn’t appreciate it. That it could cause him problems if they decided to fight, to war on each other. He had worked for both Winner and Zechs, bought and sold to both, and would be caught between them if they chose to use him. He had no allegiance, no loyalty, and stepping up to take a side would lead to the kind of shift in power that the city hadn’t dealt with in over a decade.  

If he could sit it out, he would. But there was one key fact he couldn’t ignore, a detail he overheard that had him reaching for his phone to let out a line, have a couple of people talk, let a few over-eager ears pick the slip up and carry it along for him.  

“I wonder,” he murmured, eyes glittering in the dark, “how Zechs will take having his precious little pet whisked away?”  

As he leaned back in his seat, he laced his fingers together and waited for the threads of fate dance for him once more, he was sure of one thing: Chicago was going to learn why one stayed on the good side of the Broker.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: references to childhood sexual abuse, dubious consent, implied sex with a minor.
> 
> This fic is heavy, and it deals with a lot of things, our own triggers included. We both feel very strongly about handling them with care, and with making sure everything is tagged appropriately. If there's something we missed, _please_ let us know.

March was cold in Chicago, snow still lining the city streets in dirty piles. The nights were especially cruel, the wind biting sharply through clothes. Duo was 17, barely legal and already killing. It was good work. Work he’d been doing for five years, ever since he'd plucked off the street by a savior with blond hair. Zechs had trained him well, teaching him to throw knives, how to shoot. How to wear poison on his lips and kill with a kiss. He was small and beautiful and deadly, and he knew it, a black shadow walking through the dark streets, long hair swept back in a braid.

He’d been a loyal lover for years, coming at Zechs’ command in more ways than one. An unruly child molded into seductive death, killing with a smile. He was Zechs’ most prized possession, his most dangerous asset. A deadly assassin with devastating violet eyes and unending charm. It was a role he was comfortable with, something he had grown into over the years. Nothing had ever happened to change it, and his loyalty had always been unwavering.

Until he’d found out Quatre Winner wanted him dead.

He wasn’t supposed to know. Zechs had kept it from him, brushing off Duo’s concerns and keeping him even more isolated than usual. It had been a chance encounter that tipped him off, a man at dinner who’d been too talkative for his own good. And now Duo knew, the words echoing in his head as he stalked the slick alleys. He needed information. And there was only one place in Chicago where he could get it.

Duo had never been to the Broker before. He’d never had a reason to seek him out.  It wasn’t his part of the business. There was no telling where the man was. But Duo didn’t really need to find him. He just needed to find one of his people. A lure, maybe. Just someone who worked for him, someone who could take a message back. Duo had no illusions. The likelihood of running into the Broker himself was slim. And as untouchable was he was, these streets were dangerous. His time was limited. Running a hand over his hair, Duo pulled his braid over his shoulder, keeping his fingers in it as he prowled the alleyway. He could hear someone close.

"It's dangerous for you to be out like this," the voice was disembodied, the soft Russian accent rippling through silence. Duo could just barely see him, a darker shadow looming among the others. He was big, a foot taller than him, and Duo felt a faint flicker of excitement. If it came down to a fight, it would be a close one. Duo was thin, all wiry strength, and the man in front of him had size on his side. There were few who could beat him, and the thought had his adrenaline rising. Without pause, he walked forward, stilling only once the man was in sight.

“Like what?” he asked, a picture of innocence, head tipping curiously to the side. Duo’s hands were in plain view--not that it meant anything. He had a knife up each sleeve of his shirt, within easy reach. The last person who’d tried to grab him had found out just how fast he was with a blade. Wrapping the end of his braid around his fingers, he bit his lip and looked up through his lashes at the stranger. Duo wasn’t stupid. He knew who was in front of him: someone who could lead him to the Broker.

“Zechs Merquise’s favorite little plaything,” the man crooned, stepping into view. “Out alone at night. What a naughty boy you are. What brings you to the Broker’s Porch?” While the Broker never had a fixed location - it was too dangerous for a man of his reputation - it was common knowledge that his main lures were on the Broker’s Porch: a place where you could get as close to the Broker as any living man could. It wasn’t advertised. It wasn’t announced. But it existed all the same.

“One would think, with the target on your back, you’d be a little more cautious about where you went to play," it was mocking, the flicker of green eyes amused. Duo's posture changed in a heartbeat, innocence gone. This was the killer, the death machine, shooting a feral grin through the darkness and crossing his arms over his chest. There was no use pretending. This man knew who he was, and he knew there was a target on Duo’s back. It didn’t surprise him: why should it? The Broker dealt knowledge the way Duo dealt death. It was his business to know, and there was no reason to suspect his men were any different. There was something comforting in the soft, lilting words, a familiarity he associated with Zechs, and Duo stepped forward boldly, chin raised in defiance.

“It’d take an idiot to attack me here,” he challenged. It was true. As ignorant as he was of politics, there were things even he knew, things _everyone_ knew, and one was that the Broker didn’t like disturbances. Bringing violence to the Porch was bad for business, no matter whose side you were on. Duo swept his eyes over the giant in front of him, lips pulling in to a frown. He didn’t know why he was here. Not beyond confirming his suspicions. Zechs hadn’t told him he had a mark on his back. It had come to him from a random thug, a drunk creep with a taste for young flesh. Yet the thought alone shook him. It was enough to have sent him out, scouring the streets for a man so elusive he might as well have been a myth.

“You know about the mark,” it wasn’t a question.

“I need information.”

If Zechs wasn’t going to protect him, he would protect himself, his long dormant survival instincts coming to the fore at last.

“I’m sure you do,” the lure taunted, circling around Duo slowly, looking him over. The circling made him nervous. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his face blank. He was used to people looking at him. Zechs prized his appearance, and while few people connected the delicate doll he kept at his side with the monster he kept on a leash, Duo was used to being viewed. But this felt different. Heat flickered low in Duo's stomach, the shiver running down his spine unrelated to the cool spring air.

“But,” the voice went cold. “Nothing’s free in this world. What can you give that the Broker would want? What do you, a collared pet, have to offer up?" A beat. An agonizing pause. "The clock’s ticking, boy. What do you have worth trading?” Duo waited until the man was behind him, then turned his head, looking over his shoulder with a smoldering glance, braid thick and heavy down his back.

“I have me,” Duo offered. He turned, spreading his hands wide, hip cocked suggestively. “Not many can say they spent a night with Shinigami and lived to talk about it.” He let it hang for several seconds, eyes hooded and narrowed as they swept over the lure. His heart hammered in his chest.

“There’s also information,” he started, words punctuated with a small shrug. “People don’t expect a doll to rat on them.” The smirk he gave the man was twisted, tinged with bitterness. He was a thing to most people. It rankled, but it was necessary. Zechs was the only one who saw him as a person, who saw him as anything other than a toy. Even this stranger was doing it, making him into an object that Zechs owned. It gave him a certain freedom, let him move and overhear things he normally wouldn’t have. Duo wasn’t sure it was worth the cost anymore.

“Bodies come and go,” musing aloud, the lure rejected the offer. Duo was surprised. Not many people turned him down. No one ever had before. It was soothing in a way, especially paired with the calm, direct tone that followed. “But information for information is an even trade. That is, if you have anything worth hearing, anything we haven’t already heard before.”

_Information for information. An even trade._ Duo’s heart pounded in his chest. His information had to be good. It was his best shot at getting information on the hit. Duo didn’t think for a second that the Broker could tell him what he really wanted to know--the Broker didn’t know why Zechs hadn’t told him. But he could still get something. Anything. He’d spent his life serving Zechs. Everything he’d done for him had been to protect their life together. It had been survival. Duo’s need to survive trumped everything, and Zechs had never compromised that before. He’d always acted in Duo’s best interests. But this was different. Zechs had kept this from him, kept Duo ignorant, and Duo couldn’t survive without knowledge. The withheld information rattled Duo’s trust at its core, and he was still reeling with it.

“So, little Shinigami.” He stepped up behind Duo, whispering in his ear. “What do you have to tell us?”

Duo shivered, biting his lip, looking up in to green eyes. He swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. It was an unusual feeling for him. He was the hunter, the one stalking prey in the darkness. But there was something about this man that had Duo’s heart racing, adrenaline spiking through him. His instincts screamed _'threat!'_ even as he recognized the lure wouldn’t hurt him. Straightening his shoulders, he hardened his gaze and clenched his jaw.

“I can tell you about drug shipments. I can tell you where his brothels are located. I can tell you what he had for breakfast, if you really wanna know. Like you said,” his lips twisted again, the same bitter smirk as before. “I’m his precious pet. I never leave his side.”

“Yet, here you are,” the lure murmured, fingers ghosting along Duo’s arm “What would your master have to say about that?” His lips quirked, and he backed away. He leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look down at Duo with eyes full of curiosity.

“We know this information already; his business is an open book. And we care not for his eating habits. But that you’re always - or, if I am to be correct, _mostly_ \- at his side can be of use to you,” a slow smile slid across the man's lips.  “What you have that we do not is his personal life. His habits, his routines, his _weaknesses_. What Zechs Marquise holds close to him, what threatens him, what _distracts_ him. You see many things as his loyal, obedient pet.”

He took a step forward as he spoke. “Most don’t think a dog can speak. But, how much are you willing to talk to keep yourself alive?”

There it was. The condescension. Duo had been waiting for it, so used to it from everyone else. It shouldn’t matter. Not from a stranger. A low life who shared information. He wasn’t even important--just a lure. He had his own master. But the words shot through him like fire, fury boiling in his veins, and he’d moved before he’d thought it through, slamming the man back against the wall with a hiss, violet eyes sparking with anger.

“You shut your fucking mouth,” he growled, bristling. Stepping back, he spat, rage crackling in every line of his body. His hair seemed to stand on end with it, hands fisted by his side. He clenched and unclenched them, nostrils flaring as he took a deep, calming breath. It wouldn’t do to fight. Duo needed help. He needed to know--he needed to protect himself. Calming his rage, he took another step back, expression flat as he looked the man over.

“He holds me close,” he pointed out. “I’m his biggest weakness. He’s said so himself. How’s that for a fucking _dog?_ As far as routines--I can tell you when he wakes up, when he goes to bed, how often he takes a shit. I can tell you he sleeps with me almost every night--and when he doesn’t, he has a loaded gun under his pillow.” Sneering at the man, Duo put his hands on his hips, violence in his gaze. “Now how about you tell me something. Where do I find the Broker?”

“Not here. We aren’t the only ones with eyes and ears,” he jerked his chin, an unspoken command to follow. And Duo did, down twists and turns to a small door set into a wall, almost seamlessly blended into the aged red brick. With a look over his shoulder, the lure unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on a lamp beside the door. He turned to face Duo, crossing his arms over his chest, the facade dropped, expression intent.

“I am Trowa Barton,” he said, voice cold, his accent stronger than it had been in the alley. “Tell me what you want to know and I will judge its value. The more you can tell me, the more I’ll be inclined to believe you’re worth the effort.”

* * *

 

He watched as realization washed over the young man's features, flickering hints of embarrassment mixed into the horror that he had caught much more than he had intended.

"You're the Right Hand," Zechs’ boy whispered, as if confirming it aloud would make the details more real, more tangible. Trowa could understand it. He didn't often approach people seeking information on the Porch directly. He would work through layers, using lures, Eyes, and Ears to receive and hand out information. But this was not a normal situation. This had to be treated with the utmost care, lest he scare Shinigami back to his master. It was a delicate balance of pushing and pulling, of angering and offering trust. Keeping the boy off balance enough to give honest answers, not letting him have a chance to fabricate a lie or keep secrets. Trowa waited for the boy to wrap his head around this, patient. He couldn't push too far, couldn't rush Shinigami, who was clearly out of his comfort zone. It took less time than he thought for the words to come, spilling out past full lips.

“He wakes at 7 every morning. Uses a private gym, showers, has breakfast. Business meetings start at 10, usually in the study at his penthouse. If he has to travel, they start at 12. He drinks two cups of coffee with breakfast, no cream but three sugars. I prepare it myself, make sure it’s to his taste,” the boy spoke softly, gaze fixed on the floor. “He has a personal chef, someone who’s been with him for longer than I have, and his loyalty is unquestionable. He does not nap, although he does insist on quiet time after lunch--usually spent with me.”

Trowa listened quietly as Shinigami rambled, obviously unsure as to what Trowa, let alone the _Broker_ , would want. But this was why he let the boy keep going. He would stumble upon something of interest, something that would mean more to Trowa than it would to the boy, and from there he could coax more details. He didn’t want the boy to get fixated on one idea. What might seem like useful information to an Informer could be useless to Trowa. He leaned against the back wall of the room, letting Shinigami have some room to breathe. While he wanted the boy to keep talking, he didn’t want to intimidate him to the point where he couldn’t think, couldn’t respond. The boy fidgeted, gnawing his lower lip as he met Trowa’s gaze before cringing away. 

“He keeps a book. In his nightstand. It has all of his meetings, lists out who owes him what. There are access codes there, ways to get into the safety deposit boxes where he keeps his blackmail material.”  Trowa had heard rumors about Zechs’ book, and while he would want to know more, he merely nodded, his face staying neutral, unaffected. He didn’t move, keeping his eyes locked with the boy, a silent prompt to keep talking. Any detail could become useful, could be made into a weapon. The Boy held so many possibilities. He wouldn’t know their worth until Trowa honed them, showed the boy how to wield it. How to protect himself with a few well-placed words.

_You’re a mere dog right now_ , Trowa thought, watching and waiting, wondering what else Shinigami would offer up for his life. _But you’re not broken. Your will to fight hasn’t been snuffed_. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming thoughtfully. _How much longer will you be content to stay on your leash?_

“I--” the boy laughed, a harsh choking sound. He ran his hand over his bangs, flicking his gaze to Trowa’s, before slumping, leaning back against the door and tipping his head to rest against it as he let out a bitter laugh. “Shit. I’ve spent every night in his bed since I was twelve, know the man better than he knows himself, and I don’t even know what to tell you. You wanna talk about the sex? He likes it with the lights on. Likes when I wear pigtails and a schoolgirl uniform. Sometimes, I sit under the desk when he’s in a meeting. Sometimes I go around the desk, if they’re important clients.” he shrugged again, jaw clenching as he spoke.  

Trowa’s eyes sharpened, his head raising, body tensing at the boy’s words. He had suspected as much, but he’d never been able to confirm Zechs’ _tastes_ in his bed partners. There’d been enough rumor about Shinigami. He’d been the youngest of little pets Zechs’ picked up, only twelve when he was taken in. Fourteen was deplorable, but less ground for Trowa to be able to justify taking action. But the boy breaking down in front of him was so different from the man’s usual picks. So much younger, so much _deadlier_.

“I can tell you about me,” the boy gave Trowa a direct look. “Wouldn’t that be good information to have? Details on Shinigami?” 

He didn’t move away, studying the young face, his eyes roaming the features of Zechs’ biggest mistake. "I am listening, little godling. Tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell," the boy's eyes dropped to the ground as his voice went flat. "I grew up on the streets with my big brother. Ran with a gang, lived in a church for a little while. He used to turn tricks for food. Died when I was ten.” The words were blank, matter of fact, though Trowa didn't doubt it was still painful to remember. 

“After that I was alone. He made me promise I’d never sell myself, and I kept it. Stole, mostly. Met Zechs one night when I tried to pickpocket him. He was downtown, putting a bullet in his last lover. Stupid kid slept with someone else-- Winner, I think. He picked me up, gave me a home and a purpose. He gave me love, and taught me to kill.” Shinigami's voice was low, detached as he finished, “That’s all there is.”

"Oh, my little death god,” Trowa murmured, eyes gleaming with intent. The boy looked up at this point, lips parting before biting his bottom lip, a flush blooming over his cheeks. Trowa strode forward, leaning against the door, his body held just away from the boy, lips close enough to brush skin. Shinigami’s eyes widened as he looked up at him, body shifting to mirror Trowa's posture, violet eyes widening, becoming hooded and dark in unconscious submission. 

Trowa wasn't ignorant to the way the young assassin was reacting to his presence. He’d had people tell him that they could come to his voice alone, that his whisper was enough to have them spilling into their hand late at night. This boy, so accustomed to having his body used in pleasure, would easily fall apart, body responding as it had been taught to do. It was that thought that had him mentally recoiling, distancing that primal part of himself from the rest of him. This boy was off limits. But he wasn't above using it to keep the boy on the brink, to keep honest reactions coming instead of the trained ones he was slipping back into. 

“You being here is going to bring me _plenty_.” Shinigami's cheeks darkened, eyes widening and pupils dilating as Trowa spoke. 

“I believe we can strike a bargain. So what will you do?” he continued, pitching his voice low, almost a purr in his thick accent. The boy shuddered, looking away from Trowa's piercing gaze. “What will you do, Shinigami, if your purpose, your home, is stripped from you? Will you move on, or will you curl up and fade away, a useless, broken toy?” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can you live without Zechs? Or do you need his controlling hand on your cock to function properly?”

That sparked a different reaction than the submissive, needy one, which had been Trowa's intent. Shinigami snarled, shoving Trowa hard, forcing his back to slam against the opposite wall as his face filled his spotted vision. A line of ice pressed against his throat, the glint of a knife shining in the lamplight.

“You fucking prick,” he ground out, jaw set, nostrils flaring. “You don’t fucking know shit.” Shinigami pulled away, yanking the door open as he hissed, “I don’t have to take this.” 

Then he was gone, out the door, slamming it behind him and taking off. Trowa rubbed his throat thoughtfully as he pulled out his phone, typing in a brief message and sending it to his Eyes in the area. 

**The Little Devil is running hot**. 

It was all he needed to say; those who would be getting it knew what he meant. The little death dealer wouldn’t be without Trowa’s protection if Winner’s men were foolish enough to be looking for him here on the Porch. Worst came to worst, the Lures would take the boy to safety by force, if necessary. 

That was a last resort. The possibility of losing a few of them was real, yet he knew they would die if Trowa asked it of them. They owed the Broker their lives, it was his right to demand. He didn't like the feeling that crawled under his flesh at that thought

While he waited he made a sandwich, eating it slowly as his phone vibrated with message after message, keeping track of the little killer’s movement through the city. He didn’t rush, and thoughtfully made a second sandwich for Shinigami. The boy would be hungry after such a run.

“You fascinate me, Shinigami,” Trowa mused as his phone buzzed on the counter yet again with another message. “This will be quite... interesting.”

* * *

 

Duo ran. He didn't allow himself to think, letting his body guide him as he followed the twists and turns of the alleys in a desperate attempt to escape the doubt that had been planted. It was too much. He couldn't-- 

Breathing in a quick, sharp burst, Duo stopped in an alcove of a boarded up doorway. He was lost, alone, and suddenly terrified. What if that man, Trowa, was right? What if Zechs _did_ leave him? Duo had nothing. No friends, no family, no money, and no skills. Nothing beyond killing, anyway, which wouldn't do him any good.  

With a low keen, he sank to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and pressing himself into the shadows. Every nerve was tingling, all of his instincts on high alert as he struggled to catch his breath, to calm his wildly beating heart and racing thoughts. He was alone. He was alone and lost and no one was ever going to find him. He would never see Zechs again. That thought was enough to break him, his self-control shattering as he let out another keen, body trembling as he sobbed brokenly. He had been pushed too far over the edge, his fears laid bare by a stranger.  

“I ask because that will be the remainder of your payment. The information you gave was good, but it was not enough.” 

Duo hadn’t expected to see the Broker's Right Hand again, not so soon. Not after he’d had a knife to his throat. But there he was, at the opening of the alley. He didn't move closer, keeping his distance as he spoke in a soft voice, almost drowned out by the roll of thunder echoing in the distance. 

“If you want to stay alive, you will no longer belong to Merquise. The Broker's price will require you to break all ties with him. Would you rather die as his collared whore, or live and become your own man?” A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, punctuating his words as the sky opened up above them, rain falling over the filthy streets of Chicago. 

Trowa stood still, not moving to seek shelter as water fell on him, waiting for an answer. Duo stared up at him through red-rimmed eyes, shuddering, arms wrapping around himself as the words soaked into his mind, much like the rain was doing to his clothes. Shaking his head, Duo curled in, breath hitching. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. The presence of the Broker’s man was oddly soothing, centering him as he rose to his feet. With steel in his spine, he squared his shoulders.

“Zechs,” he started, tilting his chin up, gaze stony. “Zechs loves me. I’m his Right Hand, just as you are to the Broker. I'm also his lover. Zechs will protect me, he always has. Why would I throw that away for a stranger?” Duo's tone was unwavering, despite the uncertainty crouched in his chest, wrapping around his heart. 

Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards Trowa, jaw clenched in a show of stubbornness. “I am my own man. And I chose to be with Zechs. I don’t need to justify myself to anyone else. What we have is special, no matter what you think.”  

Trowa appeared unmoved by the rejection, voice as calm as when he had delivered the ultimatum. “If that is your choice, then I can offer you nothing else. The price will remain the same if you change your mind. You know how to find us.” 

The man bent, setting a plastic bag on the alley floor. Duo watched him with shielded eyes. The bag was secondary, his attention solely on the man in front of him as the Right Hand turned, leaving him alone in the alley. Duo took a deep breath and ran the opposite way, ignoring the bag. He didn’t need the Broker. He didn’t need the information. He didn't need their handouts or their gifts. Zechs would take care of him. Zechs would protect him. Duo just needed to get home. 

With a stubborn huff, he flicked his braid over his shoulder, moving quickly and silently through the soaked streets, trying to ignore the memory of Trowa’s voice, the way he felt as his body leaned close to Duo’s while they talked. The man was beautiful. Duo had noticed that immediately, and it hadn’t changed, even with the anger still smoldering in his veins.

He was soaked when he arrived home. Zechs was out, finalizing a business deal, and Duo felt a faint flicker of relief. He wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet. Duo stripped slowly, leaving his clothes in the hamper and stepping into the shower. The water was hot, warming him and chasing the chill that had seeped into his bones. Duo unbraided his hair and let the water soak through it, combing the tangles with his fingers.  

And then Zechs was there, stepping in behind him and wrapping strong arms around his waist, pressing lips to his drenched hair. Duo’s doubts melted under the heat of passion, the tile against his back as Zechs turned him, pressing him against it. He convinced himself that Trowa was wrong. How dare he imply that Zechs would have him killed? How dare he suggest that Duo meant nothing to him?

"You're quiet tonight, pet," Zechs' fingers were soft in his damp hair, stroking it back from his face.

"Just thinking," Duo leaned into the touch, reaching with one hand to turn off the spray. Zechs followed him out of the shower, taking one of the big, fluffy towels off the rack and wrapping it around his shoulders. The blond pressed a kiss to Duo's forehead, then stepped away as he reached for his own towel. Duo dried himself briskly, then wrapped his hair in a fresh towel, rubbing his cheek against the fabric. He watched Zechs from the corner of his eye, taking in the long lines of his body, the firm muscle. He looked soft, somehow, despite hours in the gym. It was such a contrast to the man Duo had met that night. Trowa Barton, the Broker's Right Hand, was all tanned skin and hard muscle.

Swallowing, Duo pushed the thought away. It was dangerous to him. Trowa was dangerous to him. To his relationship with Zechs. Tossing his towel in the hamper, Duo followed Zechs into the bedroom, absently braiding his damp hair as he watched his lover climb into bed.

“Big thoughts, apparently,” Zechs frowned at him, propping his head up in his hand. “Come to bed, pet. You’re much too pretty to think.” Snorting, Duo complied, one eyebrow raised.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of course,” Zechs replied, drawing him close, fingers stroking possessively down the curve of his spine, the small of his back. “You don’t need to think, pet. I’ll think for you.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against Duo’s forehead and tucking him close. Reaching for the remote on the bedside table, Zechs turned off the lights, then relaxed against the pillows. He was asleep almost instantly. But Duo stayed awake for long hours afterwards, the pit of his stomach hollow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to [Clara](http://claraxbarton.tumblr.com/) for her amazing and wonderful beta job.
> 
> And extra thanks to everyone's who took the time to get excited with us over this project. When we started this as an RP, neither of us ever imagined it would turn into something so huge. We both hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One again, the wonderful [Clara](claraxbarton.tumblr.com) is our beta. Thank you so much for everyone who's read and reviewed. We both appreciate your continued support! 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter--but it helps move things along.

They didn’t talk about it. Zechs didn’t ask him where he’d gone and Duo didn’t offer the information. He spent a week on edge, tiptoeing around his lover, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Zechs still wasn’t talking about the hit. Wasn’t acting like anything was wrong. It had Duo off balance and clingy, driving him to seek Zechs out at inappropriate times. The man endured his behavior with an indulgent smile, but Duo didn’t miss the tightness around his eyes, the grit of his teeth. At night doubt curled around Duo’s heart and growled into his ear, fraying his nerves past the breaking point. It was at breakfast that Duo cracked.

“There’s a hit on me.” The fact was bland, as if Duo was announcing the weather instead of his impending demise. Zechs looked up from his paper, brow furrowing.

“Is there?” Duo's hands clenched at his sides.

“Don’t act like there isn’t!”

With a sigh, Zechs folded his paper and set it aside to give Duo his full attention. “What do you want me to say, Duo? There is a hit on you. Yet, here you are,” he gestured at him. “Still alive.”

“Are you going to protect me?” It was a challenge, one of Duo's carefully sculpted eyebrows raising. Zechs was unruffled.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he said, calm and steady as he reached for his paper once again, opening it. “Was I wrong?”

The words hit Duo like a harsh blow to his chest, and he swallowed hard, heart pounding. Zechs was dismissing his concerns, was dismissing _him_. Saying outright that Duo wasn't worthy of protection. There was no fighting back, no way to deny the words. If Duo demanded protection, he was telling Zechs he was incapable of defending himself, that he was useless and weak. If he didn’t, he was left exposed, vulnerable.

Duo bit his lip, then whirled and darted from the room. Grabbing his leather jacket, he shrugged it on as he fled the penthouse, needing air. Needing to think. Zechs _loved_ him, had been the center of his world for so long that Duo wasn’t sure he knew how to live without him anymore. But now there were too many doubts, too many things he had begun to notice that he could no longer ignore. He couldn't make himself forget the way Zechs’ eyes lingered on the young boys in the brothels, or the way he grew cold, even detached at times, deflecting Duo's affections away with complaints of headaches or exhaustion. Zechs would always make up for it later, pulling him close and doting on him, spoiling Duo with slow, hard sex against satin sheets. But he could no longer deny that something was wrong.

It wasn’t raining this time. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the morning clear and cool, and so with his hands shoved into the jacket pockets, he roamed the cold Chicago streets. His hair fell in a smooth wave down his back, tights tucked into knee high boots as he walked aimlessly, trying to shake off the dark thoughts.

When he focused on his surroundings again, he found himself in the one part of town he’d been avoiding: The Broker’s Porch. He could feel eyes following him even as he turned around to leave. But he wasn't ready to go home yet. To go back to Zechs. He was still upset. As he turned a corner, he was stopped by an older woman. She could have passed as a stay-at-home mother if it weren’t for the cool glint in her eye and the stubborn set of her jaw, her voice brusque and weighted with a heavy Spanish accent.

"Come. You're wanted," she snapped, turning and walking away as if Duo was obligated to follow. He was unsurprised at the invitation. Everyone knew the Broker tracked everything that happened in his territory. He saw it all, and so did his people. It was the main reason why Duo had wanted to avoid showing up here. There were enough problems on his mind without the Broker's man, Trowa, adding to it.

 It didn't help that the tall Russian man had begun to appear in his dreams. Duo could remember in vivid detail the caress of his voice, the weight of his eyes. How they had been hard and green with challenge. No one had ever inspired that kind of anger in Duo. He shouldn’t have mattered to anyone here. Trowa was a stranger, someone who looked out for only himself and his lackeys. Yet, he kept trying to reach out to Duo. Why, he couldn’t figure out.

"In there. Goodbye," the woman said, pointing to a run-down tea shop across the road. The windows were opaque, brightly lit from the inside, and while it could use a coat of paint, it looked fresh out of Chinatown. Resigned, he crossed the street, opening the door and stepping inside. Despite the shabby exterior, the inside was bright and clean, displaying a well-kept store, and Duo’s lips curved just a little as he looked around. There were canisters of tea behind the bar, tea sets and cups lining the shelves on the wall. The scent was soothing and familiar, an echo of a childhood he had tried his best to forget. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Duo swept his gaze over the patrons of the shop, stopping as they rested on a familiar figure. The Broker's right-hand man, Trowa Barton.

Crossing the room, he unwound the soft lilac scarf from around his neck, unzipped his jacket, shrugged it off and draped both over the back of the chair before taking a seat across from Trowa. He avoided the man's gaze, self-conscious as he ran a hand over the front of his shirt. The man gave Duo's outfit a moment of consideration, and Duo felt nervousness bubble in his stomach as he looked at the table instead.

Today was meant to be a cat day, his outfit having been planned around the theme; only his tights and boots were excluded, the air outside was too cold for his thigh highs cat socks. His cheeks were brushed with faint traces of rogue, eyes lined with kohl. to bring out the color, and as he worried his lower lip between his teeth, he could taste the lipstick. Duo had initially prepared to spend the day by Zechs’ side. And now he found himself in the company of someone else. That thought had Duo finally raising his eyes to the Broker's lackey, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger.

“Hi,” he greeted, voice soft and subdued, and then dropped his eyes back to the table. There was a cup for him, empty of tea, and a generous slice of cake on a matching plate beside it, a small fork resting on its edge. Duo’s lips quirked a little as his eyes darted back up to meet green, a hint of a tease in his words. “Is this a meeting or a date?”

Trowa shrugged, picking up his full cup and taking a sip of the light orange tea inside. "It's a refreshment. Enjoy, it's on me today. The owner's hand craft all the tea blends. Have as much as you like. Are you hungry? They have lunch and dinner foods as well. Do you prefer shrimp or fish?" Trowa flicked open a small, laminated menu, skimming it as he asked.

Snorting a little, Duo shook his head. Ignoring the way his heart fluttered in his chest, he picked up the fork and sliced into the side of the cake, cutting a small piece and raising it to his lips. He crossed one leg over the other, foot bouncing lightly as he wrapped his lips around the fork, mindful of smearing the metal with the rich red color on his lips. It was sensual, blatant in the way his eyes hooded, his tongue wrapping around the tines of the fork before his mouth sealed closed, hiding it from sight.

The cake was delicious, and Duo had to hold back a soft moan of pleasure. Lips curving into a satisfied smile, he savored the taste of the cake, the fluffy piece light on his tongue, and then swallowed. Setting the fork down, he poured himself some tea. At some point, Duo knew they would have to talk, but he didn’t know what to say yet.

He wasn’t ready to leave Zechs behind. Zechs had brought him in off the streets, had loved him and cared for him for years. He had given Duo a trade, provided him with everything he could ever want. Without Zechs, he had no direction, no security. Duo had no possessions of his own, no money to his name. And without Zechs...

The thought was sickening, because without Zechs, he would be alone again. A ripple of nausea swirled through him as he set down his cup, the taste of the tea curdling on his tongue. Lost in his thoughts, the posture of sensuality slipped away, his shoulders relaxing, foot falling still. It made him look painfully young, every inch of his 17 years. Curling a lock of hair around his finger, Duo bit his lip as he gave Trowa a shy look.

The man was a puzzle to him. There was something soothing about him, even as he raised Duo’s hackles, sending his defenses on overdrive. Their previous meeting had been all about Duo, the price impersonal, something that gave the Broker no advantage in money or information. That was the part that puzzled him. These people essentially wanted nothing from Duo.

It was lucky, then, that nothing was all Duo had to give.

“I didn’t mean to end up here,” he admitted softly. Duo bit his lip, turning his teacup around in his hand and looking into it. The matron came over to pick up the now-empty pot and set down a new one. Trowa offered her thanks, and she bowed with a smile on her aged lips before taking the old pot and vanishing behind two short curtains that separated the front end from what Duo assumed was the kitchen. Duo poured a fresh cup, sipping it, and blinking at the unexpected fruity black tea.

“You say you didn’t mean to, yet here you are. So, Shinigami, what can we do for you?” The man set his cup down, folding his hands across his stomach and looking at Duo, his attention focused wholly on him. “If you wish to merely enjoy your tea and dessert, that’s acceptable. I admit I have been worried about you. I am pleased to see you are still walking among us mere mortals.”

“The name's Duo.” He didn’t doubt that Trowa already knew it, his name was common enough knowledge. “I--” Duo bit his lip and looked up at Trowa, feeling shy and uncertain. He didn’t seem attracted to Duo at all, and it set him off balance. He didn’t know how to act, what to say. Trowa claiming to be worried about him had Duo’s insides quivering, his skin flushing like a teenager at a prom he’d never had the chance to experience. But the heat he could feel on his face was a genuine blush, arching over his nose. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Taking another bite of cake, he was quiet as he finished it.

“Here I am,” he agreed finally, sitting back. “I... don’t know what to do.” Duo’s shoulders slumped. He knew it was foolish to trust this man. Trowa dealt in information, uncaring of the petty squabbles that raged around him. He didn’t care about Duo personally, didn’t desire him sexually. Yet, despite that, Duo _did_ trust him. Maybe it was the man's apathy, or the fact that Trowa was the first man to talk to him without the conversation ending in a request for sex. Duo sighed as he leaned forward and rubbed his temples. 

“He didn’t tell me about the hit. And when I brought it up, he said--he asked if I couldn’t take care of myself.”

Trowa shifted, the sound of metal scraping porcelain drawing Duo's attention, and his brow furrowed as the man leaned across the table. He pushed the last of his cake onto Duo’s plate with his fork and set the now-empty dish down on the edge of the table.

“While I don’t doubt your ability to protect yourself, it must get tiring. You have a target on your back. It would make sense to want someone watching where you can’t always see without a mirror,” he set his cup down with a firmness that matched his tone as he looked Duo over. “I want to be able to let you live, Duo. But until you make your choice, my hands are tied. Your life is in your hands, how you choose to take care of it will decide your fate. I have people sniffing around for you, people who would be more than eager to take up the fifty-mil your corpse would bring in."

He picked back up his mug, sipping the tea as if he hadn't done anything. His voice was soft, no inflection in his words, and apathetic in a way that both annoyed and soothed different parts of Duo's mind.

"There’s only so long the lures can lay false leads before it becomes obvious that’s what they’re doing. You have to decide what’s worth more, Duo; your misguided love for Zechs Marquise, or your desire to live. Until then, I can do nothing for you. I cannot offer you protection or information. I cannot tell you what to do until you decide what your life is worth.”

“So that’s it,” Duo spoke softly, looking down at his plate. When he met Trowa’s eyes again, there was a challenge in them, fury banked in the violet. “If I don’t leave behind my life, everything I’ve ever known, I’m a dead man. And if I stay with Zechs...I’m a dead man.” Duo laughed, a humorless sound.

He stood, taking his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. He was furious, almost shaking with anger. He had thought that Trowa would understand. Somehow, he had believed that the man really wanted to help. He’d been wrong. Duo pulled his jacket on, gathering his hair and putting it up in a messy bun, tendrils trailing over his neck.

“My love for Zechs _is_ my life,” he ground out. “I have nothing without him. I _am_ nothing without him. And you want me to leave and--what? Go to you instead? How are you any better?” Duo crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at him, gripping his arms tightly. Trowa was protecting him, laying down false trails. For what? A chance to own Duo himself. He snorted, shaking his head and slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He looked down at Trowa and grit his teeth. “You’re just like him, aren’t you?”

They were all the same. He’d thought--for a minute, he’d thought Trowa was serious. That they could just have cake and tea. Just sit and talk. The longing for it had been overwhelming. Duo had few interactions that weren’t about business. That didn’t lead to sex or murder. And even those friendships were restricted, stilted by their connection to Zechs. For one shining moment he thought it had been in reach, but he should have known better.

The craving for it was intense, a sudden, painful spike as he turned and headed for the door. Duo left the shop and ducked into the alley beside it. Resting his back against the brick, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed with a sense of loss that had he hadn't felt since the day Zechs had taken him in.

“I do not desire a sex toy." Trowa's voice came from behind him, a steady source of calm in Duo's chaotic emotions. He focused on the words, despite himself, despite knowing it would hurt. "If you were to walk away after and never seek us out again, you could. We could also grant you sanctuary if you so claimed it. Merquise himself would have to respect that choice, as his livelihood is in our hands." The smell of a cigarette reached him, and his eyes flickered up to Trowa's face, seeing him putting the pack back into his pocket. Trowa took a step forward, flicking ash onto the ground and taking a drag.

“He’s the one who's holding you back. He took everything from you to make you rely on him. He trapped you, bound you to him, made you dependent on him for life and love. But you are worth so much more than that." He flicked his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his foot.

 "I apologize for ruining our date. I will not approach you again, if that is what you wish. But I do hope that you come to a decision soon. Our offer, and our price, still stands. I will be watching you, little godling.”

Duo said nothing as he watched Trowa walk away. The sudden absence hit him like a brick, knocking all the air out of him. Gripping the wall, he took a shaky breath.

He’d been wrong. Trowa didn’t want him like that. Trowa didn’t want him at all, was only offering to help. He couldn’t understand it. Trowa had called it a date. Duo had never been on a date before. Zechs didn’t take him out often. Not unless there was someone he needed to meet. It was always business. And Duo understood. He did. Zechs was a businessman, always busy. He wasn’t some child that needed constant attention. Wasn’t some woman who needed to be doted on.

He left the alley in a whirlwind of emotion. Trowa didn’t want him. Showed no interest in fucking him or using him. Just offered him help, information. Treated him nearer to an equal than he could remember being treated. Called him sweet names without the patronizing tone he so often heard from Zechs. It warmed him, made his cheeks flare with heat. All of it confused him. This stranger had more of an effect on him than anyone he ever had. He couldn’t remember if Zechs had affected him the same. He had--of course he had. Duo bit his lip. Leaving Zechs wasn’t something he wanted to do. The man was his lover, his protector. His savior. Duo didn’t want to die, but leaving Zechs-- leaving Zechs felt like a death in its own way. Why couldn’t Trowa _understand_ that.

Still, he thought to himself, heading to the elevator of the penthouse, brow furrowed in thought. It had been--nice. Before he’d ruined it. Duo’s lips curved in a smile, remembering the teasing of the Russian with something that was almost affection. Duo sighed and stepped out of the elevator. Trowa wanted him to choose. Duo was beginning to wonder if he could.

* * *

 

Since his tea with Duo, Trowa had felt a simmering anger under his skin, unfamiliar and unwanted. When news reached him of one of the lures abusing the use of the Broker’s name, he took the opportunity to burn the anger off. While they were protected under the Broker, he didn’t tolerate mistreatment of such privilege.

Blood stained his hands, the whimpering mess of a man cowering in front of him, red dripping from his nose, lips, and several wounds in his body. Trowa crouched, sliding his hand through short locks, clenching tightly on the strands and jerking the man’s head back so he could look into those pathetic blue eyes, so full of terror.

“I would say you’ve learned your lesson, but then, it isn’t all about you.” The few spectators along the wall shifted nervously, most of them looking ill at the treatment being dealt out. “No, this is a reminder to _all_ that claim a place under the Broker’s roof?” He stood, voice rising to address the room.  “A reminder that while he offers protection, he won’t take kindly to those who abuse it.”

Looking at the mess of a man, his voice dropped, soft and gentle, as he said, “You will be an example for them, for those who think to commit such heinous acts, then turn and use the Broker as protection from those they have wronged.”

A swift jerk of his wrist had the man collapsing at his feet, lifeless. Trowa wiped his hands, eyes scanning the wall, memorizing the faces of those who stood there. “This man’s crime was the trafficking of children on the Broker’s territory and using his name as protection to carry it out. The Broker wishes to remind you that while you work for him you are protected by him, as long as you don’t bring trouble to his Porch. Those who misuse his name the way this fool did,” Trowa kicked the body at his feet, “are not. String him up, let him be a reminder. Speak of this to those who cause trouble. They will be next.”

He left, mind still seething. Trowa didn’t often have to go to such lengths to keep the lures in line. But with the way the Porch had expanded over the years, it was bound to happen every now and then. For the most part, Trowa didn’t care what they did. It was when it brought bigger problems to the Porch that he stepped up to stop it in its tracks.

The harming of innocent children, no matter where it took place, was always punished by the Broker. Now that Trowa had finished dealing with this mess, all he had left to resolve was freeing a deadly young man bound to a sick pervert who called himself Merquise.

It didn’t matter how much he tried, Trowa couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. Lures and outside informants brought in plenty of information, but he’d had to stop himself from seeking him out again personally. It wasn’t his place. If the kid wanted to die for the sake of false love, let him.

_It isn’t my problem,_ he kept reminding himself. Yet he still couldn’t help but hope that Duo would see reason.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to [Clara](claraxbarton.tumblr.com) for doing a wonderful beta job. 
> 
> Brief discussion of child trafficking, paired with vigilante justice. The others begin to make their appearance! Also a bit of a cliffhanger--but no worries! You only have to wait a week ^_~ 
> 
> We track fic: knife in hand and fic: kih. Come keep us company on [tumblr!](http://knifeinhandfic.tumblr.com/)

The restaurant was packed, conversation buzzing around them. It had been a month since he’d seen Trowa and Duo was slowly unraveling. He was unsteady, killing with more viciousness than was needed. Something about the Russian had pushed him off balance, and Zechs didn’t even seem to notice. Duo sat at his right hand, a look of feigned disinterest on his face. He was aloof and cold, alluring to the business man sitting next to him. The dinner was a formal meeting. Zechs was trying to renegotiate a trade deal, wanting a higher discount for bulk product.

He was only listening with half an ear. His job was to guard Zechs, and look good doing it. Duo had dressed for the evening, arranging his hair on top of his head and letting a few artful curls tumble down the side of his neck. His lips were painted a dark red, eyes smoky, and the lace dress he wore hugged every single inch of his body, ending mid-thigh. There was a tease of garter visible when he sat, his thigh highs clinging silkily to his skin. Crossing his legs, he let one stilettoed foot bounce lazily as he swept his gaze around the room.

Relena, Zechs’ younger sister, was there. She was a doll, an absolute princess, and Duo adored her. If she knew who and what he was, she didn’t show it. The woman was tall and blond, every inch an idealistic politician, and she treated Duo with nothing but kindness and respect. She was one of the few friends Zechs allowed him to have, and he cherished their rare moments together. Relena sat at the opposite end of the table, speaking to a strange Chinese man. Duo was next to one businessman and across from the other, there as a bargaining chip in the same way Relena was. He made Zechs look good, provided a beautiful distraction, and was more than capable of convincing the two men not to double cross their new partner.

It was hard to feign disinterest when the Porch was mentioned. Duo turned his head slowly, gaze falling on the stranger. Wufei. That was his name. He hadn’t been introduced as such, but Duo was sure he was a Fed. Zechs took pains to be polite, and the conversation was kept carefully legal. It was boring, so boring.

“It’s a pity your partner couldn’t join us. Are you still working that Child Trafficking case?” Relena asked politely, taking a sip of wine. Wufei nodded.

“Yes,” the word was emphatic, very firm. "Although, after a month of closing in, we have word that the man responsible may be dead.”

“Oh?” Relena raised an eyebrow. “That’s a relief.”

“His body was found on the Porch. There have been others, too,” there was a look of disgust on Wufei’s face, one that had rage rising in Duo. It took a moment for him to pull it back under control, to remind himself that he was also angry at Trowa. Biting his lip, he turned back to Zechs and smiled at something he’d said. Gave the impression that he was listening dutifully.

“Well,” Relena spoke softly. “The Broker has strict rules against trafficking. You’ll never pin it on him, but I’d wager his Right Hand was responsible.”

The mention of Trowa had Duo’s pulse racing, heart hammering in his chest as a blush rose faintly to his cheeks. He looked away from the pair, trying desperately to listen in.

 “While I appreciate what he might be trying to do, I can’t officially condone his actions,” Wufei began, launching into a tirade. Duo stopped listening after a bit, getting lost in his own thoughts. The Broker had killed off an entire child trafficking ring. The Porch had rules against it. He bit his lip, warmth washing through him. Everyone dealt in children. Even Winner, his own thoughts kept carefully to himself. Zechs pretended not to, but his brothels still held unfortunate teenagers, young boys who’d been kicked out of their home. The only difference was that Zechs pretended to care, told Duo he wanted to keep them safe. Duo didn’t know if he still believed it.

“Darling?” Zechs was leaning in, brushing his lips over Duo’s ear. He turned towards him with a smile, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “Why don’t you let Relena take you home? This is likely to be a late meeting.” Duo nodded and kissed Zechs on the cheek. It was code. It meant that Zechs was under watch, that nothing would get done tonight. Duo was a liability. He looked like a pretty young woman, and he seemed legal, but with the Feds around, Zechs was nervous.

“I can make it on my own,” Duo stood, straightening his dress. Zechs ’raked his eyes over him, then nodded, an appreciative smirk on his face. With a wave to Relena, Duo made his way out of the building and hailed a cab. But he did not go home. He needed--he needed to find Trowa. He needed to know if the rumors were true. A flash of red spread over his nose at the thought. That Trowa worked for someone who would stand up for children, that would kill for them. It made him wonder, for once, if his life could have turned out differently.

Climbing out of the cab, he looked around warily. It was dark, the layout different. Changed. There were knives tucked in to his garter, a knife slipped down the back of his dress. He was armed, and Duo knew he could kill with his shoes if he needed to. But he also knew he was protected. This was the Broker’s Porch, and violence was not allowed. Feeling safer than he felt even at home, Duo walked the streets with his head held high, waiting. Trowa, he knew, would find him.

It was cooler than he’d thought it would be. Duo shivered and headed down an alley. He knew where he was going. It was one of the benefits of his training: Duo never forgot a location. Sure, if he was stressed out (or having a panic attack) he could get turned around. But he never really forgot. Duo was on a mission, slinking through the Broker’s porch dressed to the nines with a smile on his lips, his hands relaxed at his side. There were people around him. Rushing past him on their way to business. Trowa would have known the minute he’d set foot here. Duo had no illusions. The Broker dealt strictly in information, but he was just as much a mob boss as Zechs or Winner.

Duo found the door with ease. Trowa wasn’t there anymore. He’d have moved on. But Duo paused there just the same. Leaned back against it and drew a clove out of the slim black purse he carried. Lighting it, he inhaled with pleasure, waiting with buzzing nerves for the Right Hand to appear. He needed--to talk. To find out if the rumors were true. Offer information of his own. Duo still couldn’t decide; didn’t think he could leave Zechs. He’d been so warm tonight, his hand on Duo’s thigh as they ate. He’d pushed Duo’s errant curl over his ear with tender fingers, possessively stroking the back of his neck as they talked. Duo bit his lip. Wondered if Trowa’s fingers would feel the same.

“The little death dealer came to visit again,” Trowa said, his voice languid, relaxed. "What can I do for you tonight, Shinigami? Pardon if I’m not good company, it’s been an… eventful evening.” Duo shivered at the name, biting his lip. He couldn’t quite look Trowa in the eye, a flush flashing bright and red over the bridge of his nose, then disappearing. All of the things he’d practiced saying were gone. Duo didn’t think he’d ever felt butterflies before. Didn’t think he’d ever buzzed at someone’s presence before. Even Zechs didn’t draw this response from him. Duo felt a little drunk, a little dazed, and he flicked his cigarette to the floor. Crushed it with the toe of one foot, trying to seem nonchalant.

“I-- heard about the traffickers,” he spoke quietly, “and I had-- information.” It had been stupid to come. Trowa probably already knew. The thought made his shoulders slump, especially after hearing Trowa talk. He’d had a busy evening. There was a haze in his eyes, lethargy to his movements that Duo had grown familiar with. A look he'd seen on Zechs' face enough times to place. His throat tightened, anger filling him. He should have known.

"There’s a fed after you-- two of them. You probably already know.” Snorting, Duo crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you didn’t deal in sex.” It was acidic. Duo was hurt, a small part of him recoiling from the knowledge that Trowa had fucked someone. Someone who wasn’t him. He shouldn’t be upset. No one really wanted him, he wasn’t--he wasn’t special. He was just Zechs’ toy.

“I’m not a saint, Duo,” Trowa snapped, agitated.

Duo blinked rapidly, then bared his teeth at Trowa, hand going to the door. “I thought--”

“You're right,” Trowa agreed, his voice softening all at once. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall tiredly. Duo paused, hand falling from the doorknob. Biting bit his lip, he clenched his hands at the small of his back, hanging his head. He knew. Trowa was only human. Trowa didn’t have to explain anything to him. They weren’t--anything. They weren’t even friends. Duo was just some kid. Some hot piece who killed and fucked as he was told. He couldn’t look at him. Fighting the urge to run, he searched desperately for something to say. Shame pooled in his belly, made him nauseous and hot. Taking a deep breath, he rested back against the door, feeling defeated and small.

“I don’t deal in sex. I deal in information. You said you heard about the trafficker. As the Right Hand, it is my task to make sure that those who take the Broker's name do not ruin it. They had done what the Broker sees as unforgivable. The man who died tonight? Their leader? He’s the type who deals in sex. A crime that cannot be ignored."  Trowa's eyes fluttered opened, fixing on Duo with an intensity that had his heart pounding. “Especially when it involves children.”

He still had a dazed expression in his eyes, but Duo could see more than anything that the older man was exhausted. It echoed in his voice as Trowa murmured, "Tell me, little killer, do you feel cold and empty inside when you take a life? Or is it a rush through your veins, a pounding in your heart, a watering in your mouth?" He shook his head, running a hand through sweat-soaked bangs, pushing them away from his face for a moment before falling back to conceal the left side. "I _am_ glad to see you alive and well. I’ve been worried about you. It’s been… quiet. I wouldn’t mind having company for tea again.”

“I’m sorry,” it was whisper soft, breathed into the room. Duo still didn’t raise his head. Everything hurt. It hurt worse to hear that Trowa wanted to have tea again. That Trowa wanted to spend time with him, even if he didn’t want sex. Rejection wasn’t something Duo was used to dealing with, and it felt bitter and heavy on his tongue. Raising his head, he turned it, looking away from Trowa, resting his temple on the door. He bit his lip. “Thank--thank you for dealing with the traffickers. No--I remember what it was like. On the streets. Zechs is the only reason I didn’t end up in a brothel.”

He couldn’t address anything else. It was on the tip of his tongue. To ask why Trowa didn’t want him, to beg him to take him then. Duo swallowed hard, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. To still the slight tremble in his limbs. Taking another deep breath, he finally looked at Trowa. Took in the exhausted slump of his shoulders. Whatever else he wanted to say disappeared, worry creasing his brow. He didn’t have a right to ask. He didn’t have a right to ask anything of this man. Duo wet his lips, then offered him a tiny, dejected smile. “Tea would be--nice.”

It wasn’t at all what he’d wanted; Duo had wanted to come down here and thank him. To try and convey how much it meant to him that the Broker had killed the trafficker. As if somehow Trowa had known what it would mean to him. It was a delusion. The Broker didn't give a shit about him; his Right Hand didn’t either. No one did, except for Zechs. With a painful ache in his chest, Duo reminded himself that he couldn’t even be sure of that anymore. He was alone. “I should go.”

Duo tensed in surprise as Trowa’s hand touched him. It was soft, almost questioning. His eyes widened as Trowa’s arms went around him, stiff and uncertain. And then he melted, wrapping his arms tightly around Trowa’s waist and pressing his face against his chest, breathing in his scent. It was Trowa. All Trowa. Duo bit his lip, reveling in the contact and sagging slightly with relief. Trowa was hugging him, holding him tight against his chest even as he spoke.

“Stay safe,” Trowa said, not moving away. “I’m not all powerful. I’m only human, little death bringer.” His hands didn’t wander, staying pressed flat against Duo’s back. It kept their hug from turning sexual, from being suggestive. “Time’s running out.”

“I know,” Duo breathed. He wanted to say more. To try and explain to Trowa how hard it was to walk away from the man who’d given him his salvation. The words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat, coated his tongue, and Duo’s breath hitched just a little, his eyes falling shut as he centered himself. Trowa’s arms tightened around him again, and Duo’s hands fisted in his shirt. He didn’t want to move away. Trowa’s arms grounded him, kept his steady. But he needed to acknowledge what he said.

“I’m--trying,” he faltered. Duo was scared to die. He was scared to leave Zechs. He was scared to be alone. And he didn’t have the words for any of it. Duo pulled back to look up in to Trowa’s face, violet eyes a riot of conflict. Desperate to keep their conversation civil, he changed topics, a smile spreading over his face, bright and sincere. “When would you like to have tea?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “I’ll know when to meet you, Duo.” Trowa stepped back, his hand lingering on Duo for a few more moments before dropping, returning to his side. “Their blueberry cake is divine,” Trowa murmured, his lips twitching wider.

“I like blueberries,” Duo purred, a teasing look crossing over his face. There was no artifice in it, no unconscious need to seduce. It was just him, just Trowa, the two of them standing there talking about blueberry cake. Just planning to meet, to drink tea. Relena was the only real friend he had, and even their relationship was strained. Hampered by the necessary fictions between them. Feeling suddenly shy, he wrapped a curl around his finger, tugging on it and looking up at Trowa through his lashes, biting his lower lip nervously, weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“I--have to get home,” he spoke softly, haltingly. “There’s a job I have to do tonight, after. But maybe--maybe later this week? We can get tea and talk. I’d--really like to see you again.” Duo didn’t want to push. Trowa was a busy man; he had a lot of obligations. Duo was just--just a kid. Being an assassin didn’t change that. It just made things awkward. Duo bit his lip, looking down for a moment and clearing his throat.

“I don’t--have many friends. But I’d like one,” Duo felt impossibly warm as Trowa looked at him, absolutely brimming with happiness.  

“I look forward to it. Get to work, little death god. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.” His eyes flashed with intent, reaching for the door behind him, handle grasped in his hand and turning. He nodded shyly at him, following the Russian out the door. Soon. They’d have tea and cake together, soon. And maybe Duo could convince Trowa that he was worth kissing. He watched wistfully as Trowa walked away, then turned. Duo had his own home to get to, had a visit he needed to make, late that night. Zechs would be waiting, and Duo didn’t want to make him wait too long. There would be consequences if he did.

It was late by the time he was finished. The dress was gone, folded neatly in the hamper with the outfit he’d worn to kill, and Duo stood in his closet, looking over his clothes. There were so many, soft silks and burnished leather. His wardrobe was fit for a queen, equal parts costume and utilitarian, the masculine and feminine mixed together without heed to order. If Duo left Zechs, he would have to leave most of them behind, and the thought made him sad. He loved his clothes. They were one of the few ways he had to express himself, even when he was dressing for Zechs.

Duo smiled to himself, then made his way to bed, the silver at his nipples and navel glinting in the darkness. There were black wings inked over his back, dipping under the dark fabric of his panties. Duo combed his fingers through his hair, looking down at Zechs. The blond slept soundly, sprawled on his back. He was beautiful, like a star. Distant and cold. Duo bit his lip, then slid between the covers.

Zechs was beautiful, but he was nothing like Trowa, and Duo wondered what it would be like to sleep next to the Russian. If he would carry the gentleness of his hands into the bedroom. Closing his eyes, Duo lost himself in the fantasy, a flush blooming over his nose as he slowly drifted to sleep.

* * *

 

He'd dressed simply. Duo wore tight black jeans tucked into boots and an oversized, slate blue tunic. His hair was braided neatly, pulled to one side to show off the creamy curve of his neck, and he wore no make-up. He almost felt underdressed, but Duo wasn't going out for business. There was no one to seduce, no one to kill. Just Trowa. Only Trowa. Duo's lips curved in a soft smile, and he adjusted the messenger bag over his shoulder, holding the strap with carefully manicured hands, nails painted black. Zechs knew only that he was going out, taking his sketchbook with him.

It was something Duo did frequently, and the blond didn't bother to have him followed anymore. There had been a time when it had rankled. Duo had been pissed, thinking that Zechs took his loyalty too much for granted. Now, Duo was grateful. No tail meant he didn't have to shake anyone off. Meant no one would know where he was going. He didn't want to lead trouble to Trowa's door. Not more than he had already. Zechs' trust in Duo's loyalty was a boon, and he felt grateful for the first time in his life.

He made his way quickly to the Broker's Porch, headphones in. It had been a long time since he'd gone to sketch. Since he'd sketched at all. But in the week following the last visit to the Porch, Duo had been sketching incessantly. He'd half-filled the book, endless iterations of Trowa's eyes, Trowa's lips. The way his hair fell over his face. It was silly, and stupid. And dangerous. Duo tightened his grip on the bag. Zechs would not be pleased if he saw them--not that he cared enough to flip through it.

Duo was rushing. Or maybe he was too cocky. Too sure of Trowa's protection and the neutrality of the Broker's Porch. He never saw the shadow that fell into step behind him. Didn't notice the echo of footsteps. Too lost in his fantasy, too focused on the tea shop, the touch of Trowa's hands. But he noticed the gunshot. Noticed the sudden, burning pain, ripping through him as he fell to his knees. Duo clutched his side. It wasn't a good hit. Wasn't a professional job. That thought had him surging up, had him running desperately for an alley to hide in, even as the pain seared through him.

He didn't make it far. Only a few feet, another shot ripping through his thigh and taking him down for good. With his eyes to the sky, Duo's last thought before unconsciousness was Trowa, whether or not he would care that he was gone.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning and Happy Tuesday! It's update day! We introduce some OCs this chapter, and the story is moving right along! Thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented. We really appreciate it! It's so good to finally get to share this with everyone.
> 
> We may have taken a few liberties with adrenaline and gunshot wounds, but hopefully they aren't too extreme! 
> 
> And as always, many thanks to Clara for her wonderful beta.

The week had been hard to get through. Every day, he waited for a message about Duo. Whether it was that he had stepped foot onto the Porch once more, or that his body had been found somewhere less savory, he’d been on edge, gripping his phone tightly with every new message that came across it. None had mentioned the young man; none had hinted at what was happening. The Eyes and Ears could only penetrate so far into the fortress that Zechs called his home. And as Duo resided there as well, there was only so much to go on.

He sat in the tea house, anxious and frustrated, working through his third pot of tea. The green, fruity blend did nothing to soothe his nerves, and every buzz of his phone had his heart racing, his body thrumming, only for disappointment to settle over him in a haze again.

“ _Oh, Shinigami, where are you hiding_?” Trowa murmured in Russian, his hands clenching the cup tightly. When his phone buzzed, and his eyes caught the code word _Little Devil_ , he felt his pulse speed up. And then it stopped as he opened the text, catching the other code word, the code word he’d been hoping would never grace his screen.

**Attempted exorcism on Little Devil. Exorcist detained.**

Trowa ran from the shop, Madame Long watching him run with worry in her leathered face. Trowa ran, heedless of who’d see him, his hand pressing button after button, message after message flying to the other Eyes and Ears. The Porch Light was on; no one could come or go without Trowa knowing. People would sit down and holding tight, anyone caught where they shouldn’t be liable to be injured. It was a state of emergency not often employed in his own district, but when it happened, shit was hitting the fan. It had been fifteen years since Trowa had turned on the light. The last time, someone had found out just who he was.

“Over here, Boss!” one voice called out, catching his attention. Hands pressed on open wounds, blood seeping through fabric, Duo’s face tense in pain, even in his lack of consciousness. Trowa dropped to his knees, hands flying to the boy’s throat to feel for a pulse.

There. Unsteady, but there.

“Where is the fucker?” Trowa snarled, and a finger directed his attention to the man with the bloody face, tied up and left against a wall like the piece of trash he was.

“Take him to the Basement,” Trowa commanded, carefully lifting Duo up into his arms. It was risky, but he couldn’t treat Duo here on the street. The risk of infection-- it was too much. “Clean up all evidence, there isn’t to be a trace of what happened. If anyone asks, there was a border dispute and we’ve taken care of it. The Broker doesn’t want any of this slipping out, not a word. If he hears of it from someone else, all of you will be held responsible. Understood?”

There were many safe places established for use around the Porch, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of one, the door bolted and a clean sheet draped over the long kitchen table, Duo resting atop. Years of surviving on his own had taught him field-medic skills that were proving a lot easier to perform on someone else, but even so he was going to have to call in a professional.

“You fucking _kid_ ,” Trowa hissed, throat tight. “Why wouldn’t you fucking _listen_ to me?! If you die, I swear I will never forgive you.”

Mr. Long came a half hour after Duo had been found, sending Trowa from the room and closing the door. With anyone else, Trowa would have been furious. But the respect he had for the old man was too strong for him to be more than mildly annoyed. He understood though; the man was a doctor, and Duo was now his patient. The less people in the way, the better chances of Duo’s survival.

He’d only been able to give Duo a patch job; to slow the bleeding and make sure that he wasn’t about to immediately die. But it was Mr. Long who would assure Duo’s survival. In that time, he spent the agonizing wait showering, texting Howard for updates, and relaying information through the Porch. Every few seconds his phone buzzed, information being offered or requested, and with Howard’s help, he was able to get the Porch calmed once more.

The door opened, and the old, wrinkled face of Mr. Long emerged, a calmness to him that had Trowa’s shoulders relaxing, a weight lifting from his mind.

“He will need time to recover,” he told Trowa. “But he is stable. He will live, but he is still at risk for infection. You will move him to the shop, where you both will stay with us.”

“But—” Trowa stood, ready to argue, “I can’t—”

“You _will_ ,” Mr. Long said, voice firm. Trowa recoiled, hands sliding behind his back, head bowing. A pause, then a sigh, and a hand smoothed back Trowa’s hair, tilting his head up enough to meet Mr. Long’s dark brown eyes. “He needs you, son. I can heal his body, but I cannot heal his mind, or his heart. He trusts you, and it is for good reason.”

“I can’t stay there, you know that,” he said, though he knew it would do no good.

“I know,” Mr. Long agreed. “But you will need to try. If you have to go for a few days, then do so. But you need to come back. You need to show him that he’s not alone. That he has you there for him.”

“I can’t—”

“You must!” Mr. Long raised his other hand, patting Trowa’s cheek. “I know what you think. I know _how_ you think. You remember what it feels like. Don’t let him suffer needlessly. You are scared, I know. It is why I am having both of you come home. You are what he needs, and Mother and I will help him, as we helped you.”

“Yes, _papa_ ,” Trowa murmured, closing his eyes. It only took a few messages, but then they had a van to transport Duo, along with Howard to help lift and move the boy without further injuring him. Though with Mr. Long watching carefully, the chances were slim. It was only after Duo was tucked away into the second bedroom that the fullness of the situation overcame Trowa. Kneeling beside Duo’s bed, he brushed fingers along Duo’s cheek, letting himself feel the warmth radiating from the small body underneath the pile of blankets.

“Do you see now, Duo? Do you understand yet?” But the boy kept sleeping, and Trowa watched him, kneeling on the floor by his bed until dawn’s light streamed through the window. Then Madame Long came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and urging him out of the room.

“Papa said he will be sleeping for a long time,” she told him, leading him down the stairs and into the shop. “Eat, drink, rest. Making yourself sick will not help him. You have work to do, son.”

And she was right. Though in between monitoring Duo's condition, making sure that Duo's situation didn't reach unwanted ears, and 'talking' to the want-to-be assassin, he had no time for rest. The Porch was on edge. They didn’t know what was happening, but they knew to keep their heads down, to stay out of the path of destruction.

The Eyes and Ears were busy too. Tracking down information, following leads, and confirming rumors. Quatre Winner was indeed the power behind the hit, but his motive was unclear. He had no open dispute with Zechs. He had no personal vendetta with Duo. There was a fact missing, a detail he wasn't seeing, and it was driving Trowa to distraction.

He could think about that later. It was the first chance to rest he'd had in several days, and Mr. Long said Duo would be waking up soon. Trowa wanted to be ready. Right now, he was getting out of the shower, slipping on clean clothes. He had been more than excessive in dealing with the hitman, but the fool was still alive, for now. He didn’t _need_ his left hand to live. Not really. He wouldn’t be living much longer regardless, but Trowa had to get as much out of him as he could.

Torture wasn’t a method of information gathering he indulged in often; it was hard to keep the line at neutral, to be approached by all parties, if Trowa was known for torturing informants. Except this man wasn’t an informant. He had tried to murder on Trowa’s Porch, tried to kill someone Trowa had his eye on, and while the man hadn’t known that, it wasn’t an excuse. Rules were rules, and Trowa was free to do with this interloper as he pleased.

Duo had still been asleep when he checked on him before his shower, and so the sound of shuffling feet had his brow furrowing. He opened the bedroom door after a firm rap, not wanting to startle the boy. Waking up alone in a strange place, with bullet holes in you? Reason enough to be on edge.

“Are you still alive, little death god?” Trowa asked, pushing the door open. He was still damp from the shower, his hair plastered along the curve of his jaw, both eyes visible for once. When dry, his hair would hide most of his face, but right now, it showed Trowa’s strong Russian features. He found Duo standing at the door, staring up at him, legs trembling, face white. Trowa stepped forward, hands coming out to support Duo, to pull him against his chest. He knew it would hurt, but he slid a hand under Duo’s uninjured thigh, lifting him slightly from the ground as his arm gripped around his shoulder, not letting him slip. Duo squeaked as Trowa picked him up, a flush spreading over his nose as he bit his lip. He clung haphazardly to him as they crossed the room. Trowa set him back down and urging him to lie flat again.

“You’re still injured, _silly child_ ,” he murmured, the Russian flowing from his lips smoothly, blending in with the English words. He pressed the back of his hand to Duo’s forehead, feeling the warmth still lingering there. “You have a small fever, and many stitches. Don’t make it worse.”

 “What can you remember?”

“I remember--walking,” Duo coughed, clearing his throat. “I was listening to my iPod, and I’d just crossed over to the Porch. We were--I was coming to have tea.” His brow furrowed, then cleared in panic. “Where’s my bag--where’s my sketchbook?” Duo struggled to sit up. “It’s not--it’s not gone, is it?”

Trowa pressed a hand to Duo’s shoulder, pushing him back onto the bed.

“Your belongings are in the closet. No one has touched them, not even me,” he promised. He had wanted to, but with Duo’s current state of devotion and mistrust, he didn’t dare make a move that could be considered invasive. It itched at the back of his mind though, long-driven instinct saying to investigate, to take as much knowledge as he could while it was in reach. Some claimed a sketchbook offered a glimpse of the artist’s soul. Which was precisely why he left it unopened, still in the bag Duo had been carrying, and put away.

“I need to change your bandages. Will you stay put, _little godling_ , until I finish getting you fixed up?” He ran his fingers through the fringe of Duo’s bangs, the soft strands like silk against his skin.

“Oh,” Duo breathed. “No one ever pets me,” he hummed, pleased and a little delirious from the lingering pain medication. Duo turned his head, nuzzling at Trowa’s fingers, a smile curving over his lips. With a dreamy smile on his face, he nodded up at Trowa. “I’ll stay put.”

* * *

 

Trowa pressed a kiss to Duo’s forehead before standing, moving back to the bathroom where the medical supplies had been kept. Duo waited patiently, eyes tracking Trowa as he came back into the room. The kiss had brought another flash of color to Duo’s face, and he rubbed his nose petulantly. Without his mask of seduction, Duo wore his heart on his sleeve. His attraction to Trowa was painfully obvious, splashed over his nose for anyone to see. The only hope he had was that Trowa wouldn’t realize it--that Trowa would think the flush over his nose was just as artificial as the one that bloomed pink and rosy on his cheeks.

“Lay still,” Trowa murmured, cutting the old bandages away with the scissors as carefully as he could, exposing the wounds. The stitches were visible, a fine, thin line, and there was no puss or new blood. They looked red, but they didn’t look infected. He cleaned them carefully, murmuring an apology as he pressed clean gauze to the wound and began taping the bandage over it.

“It’s not too bad is it? I’ve never been shot before,” Duo bit his lip He was too good at his job to have been shot. There were practically no scars on his body, skin smooth and creamy. There were freckles over his nose, one right behind his knee, and the tattoo on his back. The piercings. But otherwise, Duo was unblemished. Few connected the doll-like boy by Zechs’ side with the seductive assassin Shinigami. Most who did were dead. The hit had taken that anonymity away from him, and for the first time, Duo felt anger instead of fear, the adrenaline cutting through the haze of pain.

“That _asshole,’_ he growled. “Dammit. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?”

“You were very fortunate. The bullets went straight through you, and no vital organs were hit. It was a close call on your side, though. Bed rest and plenty of good food will have you healed right up. But until then, get to know this bed well. You’re not leaving it,” Trowa’s voice was firm, the edges of anger on his tongue. His eyes were dark, the small twist to his lips cruel.

“He will pay for what he did, don’t worry, little death god,” his fingers pressed the last bandage into place. Trowa began winding the cloth around the bandages, holding them dry and secure. “He will be pleading for mercy by the time I cut his filthy tongue from his head.”

His eyes rose to look into Duo’s, “He will not get away with hurting you, Shinigami.”

Duo was too angry to bristle at Trowa’s instructions. To really register what was being said. Instead, he focused on the twist of Trowa’s lips, the darkness lurking in his eyes. It was a darkness he was familiar with; one Duo had nursed for years himself. A slow, feral grin slid over his face, eyes flat, their darkness matching Trowa’s. It seemed the Right Hand had plans for his assassin. Duo met his gaze without fear, wrapping his slim fingers around Trowa’s wrist and hissing softly in anger.

“I want to do it,” he demanded, “He’s mine. He touched _me.”_ Duo’s lip curled in a sneer, eyes flashing dark in the dim lit room. A message needed to be sent. He wasn’t going to let an attempt on his life go unpunished. If Zechs wouldn’t protect him, he would protect himself. Duo felt something within him shift, a resolve he wasn’t aware of suddenly strengthening as he held Trowa’s gaze.

“Let me have him. Give him to me,” Duo’s voice dropped, lowered to a husky croon as he stroked his fingers over Trowa’s wrist. “Please?”

Trowa turned his wrist in Duo’s hold, fingers brushing skin as he clasped Duo’s hand gently, leaning forward so that his forehead touched Duo’s. The touch was soothing, and Duo leaned into it, pupils dilating as he moved forward. Trowa was over him, touching him with soft hands, and his breath hitched, the urge for violence mixing with arousal. It crested as Trowa spoke, the promise dancing over his skin and raising the hairs at the back of his neck deliciously. His eyes remained dark, glued to Trowa’s face, heat raging in them. Trowa’s darkness was cold, a Siberian winter. Duo’s was a volcano, a sudden forest fire swallowing trees and towns without thought.

“Not yet, my little godling,” he breathed, eyes dark with intent. “But he will be alive for some time. Rest, heal, and when you are healthy once more, I promise you,” his voice dropped, chilly and cool, his accent heavy with his anger. “You can do with him as you please.”

Trowa wasn’t telling him no, Trowa was just saying--wait. To heal. Trowa leaned back, taking a steadying breath, his fingers rubbing the inside of Duo’s wrist soothingly. The touch calmed him, and when Trowa smiled, the remaining fury evaporated, leaving him weary and limp.

“Are you hungry yet? Or would you like to sleep some more?”

“Food sounds good,” he admitted, lowering his eyes, exhaustion coating his voice. “Do you have water?”

Trowa nodded, standing and withdrawing his hand from Duo’s wrist. He picked up the soiled bandages, gathering them together and picking up the med kit as well.

“I will bring you some food and water,” Trowa said, heading out the door. Duo watched Trowa leave with a pensive look on his face. The Broker's Right Hand had rescued him. Tended his wounds, given him a place to sleep. He was feeding him, keeping him safe. And he would let Duo have his vengeance, once he was healed. It was more than he would have had at Zechs’ hands. The man had grown cold, and the thought hurt more than Duo could stand. How long had it been since anyone had taken care of him? Smoothed his brow, brought him food when he was sick? He bit his lip, breath hitching, eyes welling. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to get himself under control. He was not going to let Trowa see him cry.

Trowa came back several minutes later with a tray, a steaming bowl of thick soup and a glass of water on it. A tablet was tucked under his arm, and Duo felt a flicker of confusion at the sight. Setting the tray on the bedside table, Trowa sat down in the chair near Duo’s bed. He offered the glass to him, a straw placed in it to help with his position.

“Take your time, and don’t push yourself. You had a bullet nearly puncture your guts,” Trowa cautioned, holding the glass steady.

“Thank you,” he said it with a smile, taking a deep drink, relief pouring through him. His lips were parched, his throat sore. Duo hadn’t realized it until now. Pulling away, he reached for the food, his eyes staying fixed on the bowl. On the table. Anywhere but Trowa, afraid the man would read the emotion in his eyes, the sharp feeling of despair at Zechs’ devastating neglect. And still, Duo wanted to go back. To smooth over whatever had caused the rift between them. It was a desperate need, burning in him even as he quietly sipped the soup, the delicious taste of it not quite able to fully distract him.

“If you are hurting, there is medicine to help,” Trowa said quietly, nodding to the medicine cup on the tray as he turned on the tablet. "And I need your help, before they kick in." He turned it so Duo could see it, several websites open in tabs, the main one displaying the unmutilated face of a Thomas Garner, a mugshot from his stint in prison only two years ago.

“This is what I’ve found on our friend, Thomas. He was hired by the Winner group,” Trowa clicked on a tab. An elegant website was displayed, the Winner’s white-collar business corporation. It was a front, hiding the true deeds done behind conference doors. “Who, in turn, was hired by someone else.”

He flipped another tab, the website revealing several displays of deposits and transactions.

“This is what I could manage to find so far of their money exchanges. I’m figuring out what was paid, when it was paid, who authorized the payment, how many hands it passed through before reaching the other’s account… I am finding out how many people are involved. How many hands are playing in the mixing bowl?”

Duo looked at the tablet with interest, eyes narrowing as he knocked back the pain pills. Hired by Winner, then by someone else. A part of Duo wanted to know if Trowa suspected who that ‘someone else’ was. It was useless to ask. Trowa would've told him, if he knew. He wouldn't lie. Not about something like this. Duo sat back, pushing his now-empty glass away.

“All payments come from Winner,” Duo spoke firmly. “He doesn’t let anyone else touch the money, once it’s been laundered and put into his hands. Probably…” Duo bit his lip, scouring his brain. Trying to remember the half-whispered conversations he’d been privy to. The things he had overheard. He looked over the list of transactions, then tapped a smaller one, lips curving in a sharp grin. “The payment would’ve already been set up in a bank account. Did Thomas have a phone on him? He’d have been given access information as soon as the hit was completed.” It was weird, looking at things from this angle. Duo had killed for Winner before. It was a standard method of payment between him and Zechs. Drumming his fingers on his stomach, he shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. I know--I was never paid. I was payment, typically.” He gave Trowa a bitter smile. “Zechs didn’t like me involved in the business side.”

Trowa hummed, standing up. He pulled a pair of gloves from the medkit on the table, then drew a black bag from his pocket. Carefully opening it, Trowa tipped a cell phone out into his hands, then turned it on.

“He sent a picture of your body to Winner after he shot you,” Trowa said. “My men were able to intercept him after that, taking him down before he could check your pulse and finish the job. His personal possessions have remained in my care since then. Would he have received the access information after that picture? Or would another form of confirmation have been required first?” He turned the tablet so both of them could look.

“No. They’d just need the one. That would be enough,” Duo asserted, watching as Trowa moved. The man was a professional, and it showed. A picture was standard for proof of death when the parties paying for the hit didn’t want to get involved with the body. It was good they were doing this now. Too long, and Winner would pull the funds. Then he would know something was wrong.

“There should be an email, and a bank app on his phone,” Duo’s brow furrowed as he fought the pull of the pain medication. He wanted to navigate himself, but he didn’t have the gloves. “The email would have logins, so he could verify by the bank app that the funds had been transferred. They should still be there--once we have them, we can pull the account up on the computer.” Fingers trembling as he typed, Duo pulled up a bank website, one that he knew Winner used.

Having Thomas’ phone meant they had complete access to everything. The account would be set up in Thomas’ name, with his information provided. Including his email. All they had to do was get into the account, and then they could start moving the money out. Duo gnawed on his lower lip. He didn’t know how much it would be--Trowa had told him what the reward for the hit was, but he’d had other things on his mind--and he had no idea if there would be a maximum daily transfer amount. Looking up at Trowa, Duo’s eyes narrowed. “I can do this. I don’t know if there are limits to how much can be pulled out in a day, but we can empty the account. You could be a very rich man.”

“Move the money,” Trowa said. “As much as you can. I'll move the rest. This information will become quite valuable. I will be looking into ways to connect the money to Winner.”

He set the phone on the table, peeling the gloves off and throwing them away, grabbing a second pair from the kit and handing them to Duo. When he sat back down, he nudged the bowl, and suggested softly, “Don’t forget to finish eating. We have all night to get this settled.”

Duo nodded, working without thought. He took the gloves, pulling them on and swiping through the phone, navigating through both it and the tablet with ease. Zechs had taught him electronics, and Duo had refined the knowledge, spending endless hours learning to code and hack on the computer Zechs let him use. The blond had tracked his every movement, and he’d even encouraged Duo’s skill. Seduction didn’t always work: sometimes Duo needed to break into a security system before he could kill, and Zechs always approved of skills that made him a better weapon. It was fitting, in his mind, that the skill was now being turned to this. 

“Do you have an account for me to put this in?” Duo asked, looking up at him. “Maybe a couple of accounts? It’s, uh. It’s a lot of money. It’s a fucking ton of money.”

Trowa hummed, tapping his chin. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small notebook. Setting it down on the table he murmured, “Congratulations, it’s a girl.” The name _Catherine Bloom_ was scrawled along the top, and Trowa touched it lightly. “Move five into here,” he said, then flipped the pages to other names, listing out other amounts. In total, the fifty mill would be split into seven accounts.

Duo nodded, following Trowa’s instructions without question. Seven bank accounts, seven names, and roughly six and a half million in each. And then one account with five. It was a good plan, one Duo could appreciate, holding his breath as he processed each transfer. Trowa watched him like a hawk as he ate and worked, and Duo knew the Russian would be doing this later, once Duo was unconscious. Then the food was gone, the withdrawal limit had been reached, and the room was starting to spin. Leaning back, he flickered his gaze to Trowa's face, hooded violet tracing the curves and angles with a caress.

"Do not look at me like that, little killer," Trowa admonished, taking the tablet from him. "And go to sleep. You need your strength. I can finish this later."

"Plenty of room," Duo suggested, slurring as he sank back against the pillows. There was a snort, the feeling of lips on his forehead, and then he was out, floating on an opiate haze as his pain disappeared.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! This week's chapter is a little less fast-paced than the last couple, but it's still important. We introduce one of our favorite OCs and give some insight into Trowa.
> 
> In places where we have italics, another language is being used. We typically try and tag the language before or after it's spoken, although in Trowa's case it's usually Russian. With the Long's, it's usually Mandarin. 
> 
> As always, many thanks to Clara for doing such a good beta job for us! Feel free to come chat with us in the comments! Or on tumblr!

Duo spent two weeks in bed, obediently resting as he healed. Sometimes Trowa was there and sometimes he wasn’t. Sometimes the couple who owned the house were there, one or both of them, tending to his bedside, keeping watch as he slept. When he was alone, he sketched, filling the pages of his journal with half-formed smiles and arched backs. Hair falling over green eyes

At least he was off the drugs. Duo didn’t know what nonsense he’d spouted during the time he spent under their influence. There was one hazy memory of Duo reaching for Trowa’s face, his fingers stroking over the ridge of his cheekbones as he stared into his eyes, the word “beautiful” spilling from his lips before he could stop it. Duo cringed as he remembered it. What had Trowa thought, with Duo recklessly reaching for him? He buried the memory in his sketchbook, trying desperately to forget the feeling of Trowa’s lips on his hair. It was getting harder for Duo to hide his crush on the Russian, heat flaring in his stomach whenever their eyes met. If he was lucky, it stayed off his face and the bridge of his nose remained blissfully pale. He didn’t dare try to seduce him, too self-conscious. Too aware that Trowa didn’t want him.     

When he wasn’t sketching, he spent his time on the tablet Trowa had left behind. Duo wandered the internet, browsing apartments and dreaming of a world where he had flowers in his windows. A pair of cats, and strong arms around his waist, husky Russian in his ear. There was a flicker of guilt as he thought of it. Duo’s daydream had no room for Zechs. The blond disappeared in this fantasy, dissolving in a haze of green eyes and tanned skin. Zechs thought he was dead, and Duo was building a life that didn’t include him. The guilt made him nauseous. He wanted Zechs’ to be there, holding his hand. Duo wanted to know that his lover mourned him. That he cared enough to search for him. But there was a part of him, a small part, that never wanted to see Zechs again. It wanted to spend the rest of his life in an apartment, with the man who was tenderly nursing him back to health.

The days dragged on. Duo was sick of being in bed. He climbed out of bed, tucked his sketchbook under his arm, squared his shoulders and made his way to the bedroom door with his jaw set. He was going to find Trowa. Or someone. Sit in the café for a while and sketch in the sunlight.  He’d been confined to bed for days. Duo needed to move, and he needed a change of scenery. It was too easy to think in the bedroom, to imagine Trowa climbing into bed with him. Or Zechs, here at last, ready to save him and put all of his fears to rest.

It hurt. His muscles were weak, his body still tender. Mr. Long was a skilled physician, but nothing could help being shot, or the time spent in bed afterwards. Yes, he was well enough to sit up. To take seated showers and change his clothing daily. But actually walking? That wasn’t something Duo’d been ready to try, until now. And even then, he wasn’t sure his doctor would approve. And after making his way down the hall, Duo thought he could understand why. Taking a deep breath, he leaned heavily against the wall and looked down the stairs with sweat beading his brow.

“You!” It was loud, coming from right behind him, and Duo jumped, holding onto the wall and looking over in terror. Madame Long had found him. “What are you doing, boy? You should be in bed!”

“I don’t wanna,” Duo pouted, slumping. “I’ve been in bed for forever.  Can’t I come sit in the café with you?” The tiny Chinese woman eyed him suspiciously for several minutes, then huffed. Coming to the top of the stairs, she offered Duo her arm. Duo took it gladly, leaning on her and holding onto the rail as they made their way downstairs, sketchbook tucked precariously under one arm. Madame Long scolded him the entire trip. Duo endured it with a smile, looking forward to being out of bed. With her help, he was able to get a spot at a table near the windows, the sun warm as it came in through the glass. Duo sat heavily, placing his sketchbook on the table, then sighed, eyes closing in contentment.

“There,” Madame Long banged a pot onto the table, startling Duo out of his daydream A cup on a saucer followed quickly. “Tea. And I’ll bring you soup.” Duo nodded, then ducked his head. The old woman intimidated him, but he liked her. She was strong-willed, firm, but very kind. Madame Long was the kind of woman Duo could imagine his mother would’ve been. Smiling to himself, he poured himself a cup of tea, stirring in some honey for taste.  Duo took a sip, his nose wrinkling automatically. Ginger. Not his favorite.

“Don’t make that face,” Madame Long scolded, setting a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. “It’s good for you. You will drink the pot.” Glancing quickly around the room, she settled into the chair next to him, tapping his sketchbook with one withered finger. “What do you draw?”

“Oh,” Duo blinked. Grinning, he pushed the tea away and pulled the soup close. His nose was hot, the blush spreading over his cheeks as he shook his head. “Just different things. You know. People, places. Stuff like that.”

“Hm,” Madame Long raised one carefully manicured eyebrow at him, watching him critically as he ate.

“Everything, really,” he continued, avoiding her gaze. “You know— “

“You draw Trowa,” she said, cutting him off. Duo stared at her, flush darkening. With a smile, Madame Long leaned in, eyes glittering.

“I, uh,” Duo stammered, “sometimes, yeah.”

“Show me.”

“Oh. I, um,” he squeaked as she reached for the sketchbook. “I don’t think that’s a good idea!” He reached for it, taking it back as soon as she opened it, black eyes widening. It wasn’t one of _those_ pages, thankfully. But it was damning, still, endless sketches of Trowa’s eyes, his hair, the curved tilt of his lips. With a knowing cackle, the old woman slapped her hand on the table.

“You like him,” she grinned. “Good. He needs someone like you to keep him in line. You will keep him on his toes, yes?”

“I—” Duo didn’t know that he could keep Trowa anywhere. They weren’t really close, and Trowa didn’t want him, not like that. Who could? And he had Zechs. He had Zechs, after all. He’d be going home, once everything was over. The thought wasn’t as comforting as it once would’ve been. Duo wanted to go home, right? To see Zechs again, to rest in his arms. Madame Long was staring across the table at him, lips curved in a mysterious smile. She pushed the cup of tea towards him, then tapped the saucer with her finger.

“Drink up,” she said, rising from the chair. “Let us get you healed. And then you can give our boy a run for his money.” Duo nodded absently, reaching for the cup. He looked up as the door opened, every muscle in his body going tight. Trowa was back, standing in the doorway with an expression of worried shock on his face, and Duo’s chest ached. His breath caught as his gaze drawn to the cut of his jaw, the long fall of his bangs. Swallowing what was left of his tea, Duo set the cup down. Trowa was tall and gorgeous, and he did not look happy.

“You should still be in bed,” he said, brows drawn together as he examined Duo. “You are not well enough to be walking about. You will tear your stitches.”

“He needs to move around. You can’t trap him in bed all day, Trowa,” Madame Long said, sipping her tea and raising a brow.

“He was shot. He almost _died_ , he—” the words cut off as Trowa growled in frustration, and in three long strides he was beside Duo, sliding a hand under his legs and lifting him from the stool, pulling him back into his arms. It tugged at the stitches, and a flare of pain had Duo’s eyes widening, teeth gritting, but then a hand was behind him, supporting him, and holding him sideways against Trowa’s chest, knees bent over his other arm.

Madame Long, still sitting as if Duo _hadn’t_ been manhandled into a bridal carry, merely smiled.

“He’s fine. As you can see. He had a good meal, got to stretch his legs, and see something besides the inside of the bedroom.”

“I cannot believe this,” Trowa muttered, his strides quick as he reached the stairs and carefully made his way up them. He seemed to be taking great care to not jostle Duo around too much. Duo, belly filled with food and the pain starting to sink back in, let his lead loll against Trowa’s chest and his eyes close. The Russian was firm, muscles warm against Duo, and so damn strong. He made carrying Duo look as easy as breathing.

“I’m right here, you know,” Duo mumbled. Trowa didn’t even glance down.

“I know. You should not be. You should be in bed.”

“He’s fine, Trowa. You’re overreacting.”

“I cannot believe you let him sit up so long!” Trowa admonished, pulling back the blankets and setting Duo down in them, the gentleness in his actions much different than the hard steel of his voice and eyes.

“Do you think I wouldn’t know when Duo was ready to rest again? I kept you alive all these years, despite your best efforts!”

The two glared at each other, Trowa still leaning over Duo while Madame Long stood on the other side of the bed, arms folded tight. Trowa made a low, growling noise in the back of his throat before stroking his hand over Duo’s forehead, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Without another word, he turned and left, but he did not close the door behind him. Duo listened for a few moments, to see if he could hear the front door, but he couldn’t. Just the clang of metal in the kitchen, and Madame Long took the seat that had become a permanent fixture beside Duo’s bed, lacing her withered hand in his.

“Ah, silly boy, he worries too much. I’ll bring you back your sketchbook, and I’ll talk to that idiot about keeping you holed away in here. Some fresh air and moving around will do you good.

* * *

 

Trowa was down to his last cigarette, and he placed the carton back into his pocket as he lit the end. He inhaled deeply before as he stepped onto the sidewalk, head tilted down but ever aware of the movement around him. He’d driven out to Indiana, not having Eyes or Ears in the area, and not wanting to displace any of the ones nearby. It was better to establish the presence with a better known face, someone who could be linked to the Broker without question. Trowa’s face carried that weight, his reputation as the Right Hand getting him into places the Eyes and Ears could never go.

It hadn’t gone well. In a sense, he’d done exactly what he’d intended: he got the information, established the sense that the Broker was watching events, left doors open to establish a stronger presence, and that was exactly what he’d intended.

The party he’d been watching, though, didn’t appreciate it, and as he made his way back to the Long’s, he could feel his body aching, the scrapes and cuts on his body stinging with every step he took. There was a particularly nasty stab wound in his upper arm, one that he’d tended to quickly, albeit ineffectively.

“Excuse me…” The voice had Trowa stopping, drawing the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ash to the ground, tilting his head to get a look at the young woman standing several feet from him, her hands twisting in the bright purple windbreaker partially covering an even brighter myriad of clothing. He nodded, and she came closer, her body trembling. The nerves showed in her voice as she spoke rapidly, a new set of eyes working on the Porch, trying to earn money like so many others who lived here. When she finished, she dropped her eyes to the ground, and Trowa slipped his hand into his pocket, drawing out a few bills and handing them over.

“Good work, miss…?”

“Lakisha,” she answered, rubbing her fingers over the bills as if she wasn’t sure they were real. Trowa nodded.

“Yes, Lakisha, you have two younger brothers and a kid of your own, no parents, worked part time at a corner store but was fired for missing too much work. Your youngest brother requires a lot of care for his condition, which is why you missed work so often.” She was staring at him, eyes wide, and when Trowa stopped, he didn’t even wait for her to ask before answering.

“I know all of those who work for the Broker. It is what I am meant to do. I monitor all of you, make sure that you’re not breaking the trust established between you and the Broker, and that you’re not abusing his name. You have done nothing to make me seek you out, but it does not mean I don’t know who you are.”

She nodded, looking down again at the money in her hands.

“You will be paid for each job you do. You have done what was asked of you, and brought me information. Now, you have money. It’s work. Work that you do on your own time, your own schedule. Go pick up your brother’s medicine.”

She nodded, babbling a thank you before turning and rushing off. Trowa sighed and drew another drag from the remains of his cigarette, before he flicked it away and stepped on it as he crossed the road. Four more times others approached him, offered information that was essentially useless to him. But they didn’t know it. They were only told to listen, look and report. They weren’t asking for favors, they were asking for money, and so even with useless intel, he paid them.

When he finally reached the Long’s, he went around the back, through the door that led straight to the kitchens. It made cleaning the kitchen easier, as the trash could go right out to the back, but it also allowed the Long’s – and thus, Trowa – to come and go without having to pass through the teahouse. Trowa didn’t often use this door, but he didn’t want to be seen coming in, and a high wall and neighboring buildings blocked him from being seen from the street. A quick glance around showed no one, and as the only windows were from the Long’s living area, he felt it was safe enough to enter, closing the door behind him as soon as he was through.

It had been four weeks since Duo was shot, and the boy was getting better each day. The first time he’d found Duo out of bed, sitting at the counter and talking with Madame Long, he’d felt his heart rise into his throat, near panic driving him to get Duo back into bed where he was safest. He’d spent the rest of the night arguing with Madame Long, her insistence that Duo was perfectly capable of knowing his limits clashing with Trowa’s own fears of Duo coming to greater harm. The wound had still been so fresh, and even now whenever Trowa closed his eyes, he could see the way Duo had looked that day, spread out on the ground, blood pooling around him. So still, so _cold_ , and it frightened him in a way he’d never known? He’d spent nights keeping vigil at Duo’s side, making sure he was breathing, afraid that when he’d look back he’d see Duo still and cold again.

But as time passed, he could see the strength returning to Duo. The labored breathing from being out of bed lessened, the amount of time he could stand to be up and about growing longer, and it wasn’t unusual to see Duo sitting around the teahouse, watching as Madame Long put together new blends, or baked, or prepared the tea for the few customers who came through. The teahouse wasn’t often busy, most of the cost of running the place covered from Trowa’s own pocket.

But it wasn’t charity; the Long’s had been living on the Porch for longer than the Broker had existed, and were one of the first to make ties with him. They had taken care of Trowa when he first moved to the United States, helped him get back to his feet, and taught him how to survive in the Chicago underworld. Now, Trowa had gone from the half-dead foreign boy to one of the most feared faces in Chicago, and one of the most respected. They had more than earned the money, and even if Mr. Long’s lips drew down each time Trowa handed over their monthly earnings, they never turned it down, never turned him away, and kept letting him back into their lives.

Before he could slip upstairs, Mr. Long was coming through the curtain, a stack of empty teacups piled on a tray. He took one long look at him and then shook his head.

“Go sit down, I’ll take care of you.”

Trowa shook his head, taking the tray from the old man and stepping over to the sink, setting it by the sink and turning the water on. Scrubbing the dry blood and dirt from his skin, he picked up a teacup and a rag, dipping the cup under the running stream and began washing.

“It is just a scratch,” he said, though both of them knew he was lying. But it was more routine than actual denial; an age-old battle that always ended with Trowa sitting on a chair while Mr. Long stitched him back together as much as he could.

“If it were just a scratch, there would not be blood staining your shirt.”

“How do you know that it is mine?”

“Because you’re not that type of man, Trowa,” Mr. Long said, so matter of fact that Trowa felt his heart seize, his breath coming in a sharp gasp he hadn’t intended. A warm hand rested on the top of his head, and he looked down into Mr. Long’s stern brown eyes.

“Go sit down after you finish and I will take care of you.”

So Trowa obeyed. The teacups were drying in the rack, and Trowa had shed his jacket and shirt to sit bare-chested in the middle of the kitchen, the din of life beyond the red curtain separating the two spaces, a false privacy that had Trowa’s body tensing. He felt exposed, but Mr. Long just rubbed lightly at the back of his neck, and he relaxed, annoyed.

“That is cheating,” he mumbled in Chinese, and Mr. Long smiled.

“One must cheat to stay ahead of you, son.”

When he saw the patch job Trowa had given himself, he scolded him in his native tongue, but removed Trowa’s work and replaced it with his own. It hurt, and Trowa believed most of it was intentional for ‘being so cruel to yourself’ but when he stuck on the large plaster to hide the stitches, Trowa didn’t let the pain stop him from bending over to pull his shirt back on to hide the scar-riddled flesh from sight once more.

He supposed a normal person would say _‘Thank you,’_ at this point, but Trowa was far from normal. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his pants, drawing out an envelope that he knew would start yet another familiar argument with the old man.

“Trowa, no,” he stated, looking at the envelope with a weariness that had only grown deeper over the years. Trowa ignored it, pressing the envelope into his hands. It was thicker than normal, the care that they’ve provided for Duo going far beyond anything Trowa could have asked for. And the money was testament to that.

“You earned it,” Trowa reminded him. “You are the reason the Porch exists. It would have been a child’s fantasy if you had not given a young man the courage and support to fight for them.”

“I’m sure you would have managed without us, son,” Mr. Long said, but didn’t push the money away again. “You were a smart, stubborn-headed young man, and you’ve only grown more so over the years. You have paid us back by making our neighborhood safe again, helping it so that other parents don’t fear losing their child to the foolish acts of another. That is all we asked for, and that’s what you’ve given. This is unnecessary.”

“I can never pay you back for saving my life, and now I can never pay you back for doing the same for Duo. The world might see the Broker as the source of power in the Porch, but it is you, all of you, that give me the strength to bother keeping up the act.”

“Hearing you say that makes me happy,” Mr. Long said, putting the money into his pocket. “But you pay too much.”

“There is not enough money in the world to pay you what you deserve.”

The silence that overtook the small kitchen was stifling, and then Mr. Long broke it with a smile and a sigh.

“Go get cleaned up before you scare _mama_.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, heading up the stairs and towards the bathroom. He shed his clothes, leaving them on the floor as he stepped into the shower, before turning on the water and bracing himself against the spray of cold water that gradually grew warmer as he scrubbed the dirt and blood out of his hair and scalp. He felt drained, as conversations with Mr. Long often left him. The old man knew Trowa better than he knew himself, and wasn’t afraid to point it out each time they were together.

“Crazy old man,” he muttered, sniffing the shampoo curiously. It was Duo’s, he assumed, because he hadn’t seen it in here before. The Long’s must have bought it. Shrugging, he poured some into his hands and rubbed it through his hair, a tightness forming in his chest again as his thoughts shifted from Mr. Long to Duo.

Duo, the boy he’d wanted to break free of Zechs. The boy he hadn’t expected to grow so attached to. The boy he was finding, to his horror, to be desirable for more than common company. He hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t wanted to feel this way, and each time he did he felt more disgusted with himself. Found reasons to go out of town on business, following leads he could easily send someone else for.

He couldn’t let it go further. He couldn’t become yet another adult in Duo’s life that used him. He might not be able to help what he felt, but he didn’t have to act on it. He’d told himself that first night as he stroked Duo’s bangs back from his face, the boy still unconscious from the drugs and injury. He could find the boy attractive, but not touch him like the boy wanted him to. The boy wanted him. He wasn’t subtle about it. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t proper. The boy was only craving something his body had grown addicted to. It would fade with time, when Duo grew more independent and regained control of his body and mind. Trowa wouldn’t add to the confusion, to the difficult road already ahead of him.

It was easier said than done, though. Trowa wasn’t used to telling himself no. When Duo got that look in his eyes, the dark look that was filled with destruction and lust, it was hard to pull away, to not succumb and let his own darkness reach out and mingle them together.

_This cannot end well,_ Trowa thought, resting his head against the cool tile, the water pounding against his back.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! Hope everyone's having a good start to their week.
> 
> This chapter has us moving right along. There are a lot of things going on, and there's some violence in the last part, followed up with some angst! 
> 
> Many thanks always to Clara for her wonderful beta, and thank you to everyone who's read and commented. We really appreciate it! It means a lot to us that so many people are engaging in this story.

“Is he really the Broker?” Duo was seated at the table in the kitchen, bent over his sketchbook. He felt more than saw Madame Long pause, the old Chinese woman’s hand stilling. Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned from the sink to gaze coolly across the room at him.

“Does it matter?”

“He could have told me,” Duo slammed his sketchbook shut, glaring up at her. It was something he’d been thinking about for days, since he’d overheard Trowa and Mr. Long in the kitchen. Something about it had set him off-balance. Duo was upset. Trowa didn’t trust him, Trowa didn’t think he was worth knowing, and the anger battled with hurt, leaving Duo’s stomach a pit of despair.

“Why? What would have been different?” Madame Long’s eyes were narrowed. “He is who he is, Duo. What he is called, what he does, it does not change that.”

“He—I needed his help! I _need_ his help!”

“And he has given it,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Did he not bring you here? Have we not taken care of you? You are safe, and protected. What more could you ask of him?” Duo swallowed hard. He shrugged and avoided her eyes as he pulled his sketchbook to his chest, standing abruptly. Upstairs. He needed to go upstairs. Where it was quiet, and he could be alone with his thoughts again. Across from him, Madame Long sighed, watching as Duo gnawed on his lower lip, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on the floor.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” he whispered.

“Duo,” she sighed, crossing the room and enveloping him in a hug. Madame Long was warm, and soft. She smelled like jasmine and vanilla, chocolate and chai, and Duo breathed in the scent gratefully, soaking up the offered comfort. After a few moments, she put her hands on his shoulders, drawing him back and looking into his eyes. “He keeps things close, our boy.”

“I know,” Duo was petulant, lower lip jutting out. He sighed, rolling his eyes, throat working hard as he swallowed again. “I just—wish that he didn’t.” Madame Long said nothing. She looked sideways at him, raising on eyebrow, urging Duo on silently.

“I just—want to know him,” he finished, still pouting. The old woman laughed, squeezing him, then pushing him away.

“So go know him,” she told him, eyes dancing with mirth, lips pulled into a grin. “Make him answer to you—someone needs to do it.” Duo snorted, rolling his eyes as he started up the stairs. Somehow, it always came back to that. Madame Long seemed convinced that Trowa needed him, needed _someone_ to keep him in line. Duo wasn’t so sure. The Russian seemed to possess iron self-control, a coolness that Duo had never encountered before. He could be warm, so warm, but always out of reach. These days, he was gone just as often as he was around. At least now Duo knew why: Trowa wasn’t just the Right Hand. He was the Broker himself.

Pausing outside of the bedroom Trowa had been using, Duo took a breath. Did it really matter? Trowa hadn’t told him, but Madame Long had implied that Trowa never told anyone. But they were friends. Duo thought they were friends, and he wanted—to be more. Shaking his head, Duo raised his hand, knocking firmly on the door. Whatever Trowa’s reasons, Duo deserved an explanation.

“Trowa? Are you in there?”

* * *

 

“I am,” Trowa paused in the middle of tapping out a text, looking up at the door as he heard Duo’s voice. “Come in.” The boy let himself in silently, and Trowa scanned him with his eyes, looking for signs of pain. It was a habit he’d formed over the weeks of Duo’s recovery. Duo stood quietly against the door with his sketchbook held against his chest, brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am not sure what you mean,” Trowa asked, biting his lip in confusion. His mind was already racing, cataloguing the possible things Duo could be talking about. He sat his phone down on the bed, a half-finished text still showing. “I don’t tell you a lot of things. This type of work is like that. What did I not tell you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Duo glared, setting his sketchbook next to Trowa’s phone, “maybe that you’re _The Broker._ ” His shoulders slumped, the glare disappearing.  The next words were softer, tinged with hurt. “You could’ve told me.”  Trowa drew in a sharp breath, his face paling and hands clenching tight.

“How did you-- who told you? Who told you this?” it was whispered, Trowa’s nails digging into his palms as he looked at Duo. It was painful, and it centered him, kept the panic off his face as Duo crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunching as he leaned against the bed.

“I heard you and Mr. Long, in the kitchen,” Duo’s voice lowered, almost a whisper. “You weren’t gonna tell me, were you?”  The Russian dropped his eyes to the bed, to the unfinished text and the sketchbook. He wasn’t prepared for this conversation. It wasn’t one that he’d ever thought they would have. He let out the breath he’d been holding and picked absently at the blanket on the bed.

“Four people in the world know. Only four. And three of them were there for the beginning. I do not tell people this. It is information that could get me killed. It is risky enough being known as the Right Hand, but if they knew I was the Broker? I would be dead before the week was out,” he laughed, empty and cold. There was a tight ball of fear in his chest, a lump of fear and hurt. Trowa took in Duo’s sad eyes. The defeated slump of his shoulders, and swallowed. “It—it was not a slight. It was not personal. It was…habit. I do not talk about it. The less people who know, the better.”

“I thought,” Duo shook his head as he cut himself off, shrugging, “it doesn’t matter.” He reached for his sketchbook, and pulled it close. “So. You’re the Broker. Is that why you’re gone all the time?” Trowa nodded and picked up his phone. He erased the text before typing in a quick **He knows. Do whatever. Talk later.** Setting the phone on the nightstand, he patted the bed.

“Sit down. Now that you know, there is no point in pretending otherwise,” Trowa sighed, watching as Duo sat on the bed, clutching his sketchbook to his chest and refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s part of why I leave a lot. I’m not as established in some areas, like I am here. It takes a more direct touch to work the influence of the Broker into those areas. And by not going as the Broker, but his closest power, I can get away with more.”

“That makes sense,” Duo agreed, his gaze flicking briefly to his face. “Madame Long says it doesn’t matter. That it doesn’t change who you are.” Trowa sighed, rubbing the back of his head.  

I am not any different than I was before, am I? This is me. I just go by a different name. A different title. The Broker-- he does not exist. He's not real. It is why no one knows who he is. You cannot find a man who doesn't exist, after all. Even I have never seen him,” Trowa grinned half-heartedly. “I only see Trowa in the mirror, not the Broker. Just as when I look at you, I see Duo. Are you Duo, or Shinigami? Are they different people, or just different titles?” Duo’s lips quirked at that. He looked at him, finally, and Trowa felt a pang of relief, the hurt in his chest easing.

“Yeah...that's true…” Duo bit his lip, looking over Trowa’s face, then away, his jaw clenching. “I still wish you'd told me.” Stretching his legs out, Trowa leaned back against the headboard.

“I didn't think it mattered. I'm told I can be... ignorant at times,” he reached out, brushing Duo's bangs behind his ear. “Does it help, to know?”

“It helps,” Duo started, letting out a shaky breath and leaning into Trowa’s hand, looking up at him through his lashes, “to feel like you trust me.” Trowa’s lips twitched. This boy was going to be the death of him.

“Then come here,” he drew Duo closer, resting his chin on the crown of Duo’s head and letting his arms wrap around him, holding him against his chest. “I do trust you. I didn’t realize it would cause you this much pain.” It didn’t surprise him that Duo went, willing, leaning against his chest and wrapping his arms around his waist. It wedged the sketchbook between them, but Trowa was far from caring. What mattered was this: soothing Duo. Helping to ease the hurt he had caused. Trowa rubbed his hand against Duo’s nape, squeezing lightly.

“I have a feeling Madame Long would say otherwise, though,” Trowa continued in a tease, “The tyrant.”

“Yeah,” Duo laughed, a soft, fragile sound. “She has opinions.”

“She does. She’s not afraid to tell me them, either. Quite loudly, in fact,” Trowa rest his cheek against Duo’s hair, staring at the closed door and wondering if the old woman had her ear against the thin wood, eavesdropping even now.

“Well, I like her,” Duo pulled back, grinning and looking up at him with that impish sparkle back in his violet eyes. The look made Trowa warm, his smile widening.

“What else do you want to know? I’ll tell you what I can, da?”

 Shrugging, Duo tucked a lock of hair over his ear, looking shyly away from him. “Everything?”

“That could take a long time,” Trowa raised a brow, then tapped Duo on the forehead with a finger. It earned him a pout, Duo rubbing his forehead and sticking his tongue out at him. “Start with the three questions you want most to know? We’ll work from there.”

“Hm,” Duo leaned back on his palms, looking up at the ceiling with his sketchbook in his lap. Drawing one leg up and pillowing his head on his knee with his arm, Trowa watched Duo, finding his eyes tracing the line of his jaw and neck. His gaze brushed over where they met his collarbone, flowed out to his shoulder. Trowa gave himself a mental shake and forced himself to focus on Duo’s question. “Do you live here? With the Longs?”

 “I don't. I stay here, sometimes, if I am injured. But I have several safe houses in Chicago I move through.”

“How did you meet them?”

“When I came from Russia with Howard, I stayed here for the first couple of years,” Trowa kept his eyes focused on Duo, the past rising up around him. He didn’t want to go back. To think about what it had been like. He kept his gaze steady, lingering on the fan of Duo’s lashes over his cheek, the light splatter of freckles over his nose. “They took care of me until I could take care of myself.”

“Who's Howard?” Duo sat up suddenly, expression horrified. “No! That's not my third question!” It was endearing, like so much of the boy. Trowa felt another smile twitching over his lips, banishing the pain of the past. Duo grinned sheepishly back at him.

“I mean, that's not what I wanted to ask. Um,” he looked away again, flushing. “So do you--I mean. Do you...rescue people? Often?”

“No, not like this. This was a much different situation. I don't often get personally involved, but... I saw a lot in Russia, Duo. Too much. And I normally don't care what happens in this city, in this world. I know that the information I get and sell hurts many people, and I don't care as it doesn't bother me directly,” Trowa paused and bit his lip as the memories rose again. “But I cannot stand the thought of... of people who are in the situation you were in. I can't turn a blind eye to that. It's... it's too personal to me. Too…close to the house?” Trowa shook his head. It wasn’t the correct phrase, but it would have to do. “You were an exception. A very stubborn exception, but one that was worth it.”

“So you think I'm worth the trouble?” Duo curled a lock of hair around his finger, eyes wide and full of hope. Trowa drew his legs under himself, leaning forward to look into Duo’s face, fingers grazing his cheek.

“You are worth even more than that,” he pressed his lips to Duo’s forehead. The flush was quick and dark across Duo’s nose, gone almost as soon as it had arrived, and Trowa fought back the urge to repeat the gesture. To move it lower, even, to brush his lips over Duo’s. “Now, that was three questions, and it is time for dinner. Do you want to eat downstairs again, or would you rather eat up here? Are you hurting anywhere, do you need more pain relievers?”

“I'm fine, Tro,” Duo’s lips quirked, his eyes rolling. And then he grinned. “But I am hungry. Let me put my sketchbook up, and we can go beg Madame Long for some food?”

“Beg?” Trowa scoffed, hand passing briefly over the back of Duo’s neck as he climbed off the bed, putting his phone into his pocket. He stepped to the door, opening it with a smile. “All you have to do is give her your dog-eyes and she'd give you the world on a platter. She adores you.” Duo giggled and followed after him.

“Yeah, I did kind of notice,” he teased, pausing at the door to look warmly up at him. “I guess that makes me the favorite. I'll see you at dinner?”

“Da,” Trowa agreed, shutting the door behind them. He took long strides down the length of the hall, the smell of roasting vegetables wafting up, filling his nostrils.

“Trowa?” Duo called out, making him pause. Trowa turned, looking back down the hall at the boy standing there in too big sweatpants and a tank top, sketchbook clutched like schoolbooks to his chest. “You can trust me, you know.”

“Oh little godling,” Trowa sighed, his smile small and soft, a gentle curving of lips. “I already do.” And then he descended, forcing himself down the stairs and away from the tempting figure standing wide-eyed in the middle of the hall.

* * *

 It wasn’t long before Duo started to feel the pressure of his inaction. Mr. Long had finally decided he was out of the woods, and he was sick of lying in bed, or sitting around the café. He needed action. There was violence itching under his skin, desperate to get out. He needed to see Thomas. Needed to confront his would be killer. Climbing out bed, Duo made his way down the hall, slinking towards Trowa’s room with hooded eyes, body thrumming in anticipation.

“Trowa,” he crooned, opening the door. “Trowa, I’m bored. It’s been a week. Let me play. Please?” 

“Do you feel up to it? There is no rush, he is not going anywhere until I feel ready to dispose of him.” Trowa wasn’t saying no. But he wasn’t saying yes, either. Duo grinned, the expression sharp and full of teeth. He wrapped a lock of hair around his finger, batting his lashes at Trowa and resting his foot flat against the door, a picture of innocence in Trowa’s baggy, faded sweatpants. Duo was more than up to it. Duo _needed_ it, needed to do something with all the restless energy thrumming through him. Prowling across the room, he made his way to Trowa, every step silent and precise. There were no wasted movements, no grimaces of pain. Duo was Shinigami on a mission as he leaned over Trowa, close enough to see the eyelashes framing those gorgeous green eyes. 

“I,” he purred out, resting a hand on the chair behind Trowa’s shoulder, “am more than up to it. I _need_ it.” Duo bit his lip, tilting his head to the side and peering at him from under sooty lashes. Releasing the lock of hair, Duo ran his finger down Trowa’s chest. “Please, Trowa. Please can I play?”

“Get dressed and we will go, Shinigami,” he promised. “You will be able to play today, as long as you do not overdo it. Mr. Long put much time into mending your body, do not break it so soon.” He said the words with no bite, tapping his fingers against Duo’s cheek before passing him into the bathroom, the door closing behind him.

Duo’s answering grin was viscous. The terms were tolerable. The Longs had worked hard; it wouldn’t do to unravel all that work. He practically purred as he went back into the bedroom, carelessly stripping off the pajama pants and tugging on a pair of jeans and a tank top. Braiding his hair, he threw it over his shoulder, before tugging his boots on and slipping a knife into the top of one, leaving the other in his bag. He would need it--he had plans for the man who had tried to take his life. 

Striding confidently back into the hallway, Duo rested against the wall next to the door, foot tapping impatiently, arms crossed over his chest. you already used impatient, he began to whistle, a light, jaunty tune, violet eyes bright and sparkling. Every inch of him was eager to go, to play. It was the only thought in his mind. Duo buffed his nails on his shirt, then looked down at them, pleased to see that none of the polish was chipped. Even after having been shot, he was still flawlessly manicured.

Pushing away from the wall, he bounced on his heels, humming, vibrating with energy as he waited for Trowa to come out. To lead him to his prey. Trowa gestured for Duo to follow, a sharp jerk of his chin as he descended the stairs. Duo followed after like a kitten, practically prancing along behind him. He wanted to sing. To whistle, laugh, race around the stoic man leading him. It was hard to maintain his self-control, but Duo did, limiting his excitement to a grin that was all teeth, all deadly anger. That they stayed in the tea shop surprised him. Maybe it shouldn’t have, given how often Trowa seemed to frequent it. He gave a brief nod to Madame Long as Trowa opened the cellar door. 

This was it. His grin grew, stretching across his face as he sashayed past Trowa, fingers brushing teasingly over the front of his pants, shooting him a hot look from hooded eyes. Killing was about confidence, was about control. And here, Duo had the control. Here, as Shinigami, Duo was able to put away the fluttering embarrassment that Trowa caused. He could shrug off the awkwardness of a first crush and lose himself in the role of assassin. 

“Well,” Duo purred, pulling his knife from his boot and flipping it playfully, catching it with a deadly grace. “What do we have here?”

 “Hello, Thomas,” Trowa greeted softly. “This is Shinigami, the man you were sent to kill. He is not happy with you right now, and wanted to come say hello. Say hello, Thomas.”

The man stuttered out a hello, a sob catching in his battered throat. Trowa stepped back, leaning against the second set of cellar doors, now closed and blocking any sounds that might have wandered back to the tea house.

 “Hello, Thomas,” it was a husky croon, Duo slinking towards him with narrow eyes. He was a predator. He stepped in front of Thomas with every muscle in his body shifting. There were many sides to Shinigami. Many ways to scare a man into talking, and Duo knew without hesitation that Thomas would not be scared by threats. Thomas would not be scared by the cold, detached killer. He didn’t want the pain, but it wasn’t enough to make him talk. With that firmly in mind, Duo took another stance, face artfully assuming an innocent expression. 

“Try to leave him alive, Shinigami,” Trowa cautioned. “I want as much information that I can get out of him, and he has not spilled it all yet. Stubborn man.”

“You look terrible,” he spoke softly, reaching out to stroke his fingers over the man’s face. Duo delighted in the flinch, the way the man who’d tried to kill him reacted automatically to any suggestion of pain. Duo bit his lip, leaning in, his fingers carefully gentle as they carded through what remained of his hair. “Poor Thomas. You hurt so much. It’s not your fault, is it? You were just following orders. Just doing what you were told.” 

Duo smiled sweetly at him, ignoring the blubbering cries. They always cried, unless they cursed. Stroking the sharp edge of his blade over Thomas’ throat, Duo bit his lip again. He leaned closer to him, brushing against him in a tease. When he spoke again, his voice was breathy, suggestive, and the look in his violet eyes was full of wicked promise. “Don’t you want to talk to me, Thomas? I can make you feel good again.” 

Thomas was spilling everything. Telling Duo everything he knew: how Winner had put out the hit, what the reward was. How it grew bigger the longer Duo was alive. Each word was rewarded with a soft kiss to Thomas’ cheek, a gentle stroke of Duo’s hand over his skin, the back of his neck. Over his chest. He was begging by the end of it, hips bucking, and Duo smirked as he pulled back, every inch of him hardening. 

“Such a good boy,” Duo taunted, his knife flashing in the darkness. “When I leave here, I’m going to make sure everyone knows how sweet you sang.” Thomas blanched, then whined, tugging desperately at his bindings, trying to get to Duo, to reach him. With a soft, mocking laugh, Duo thrust his knife deep in to his remaining thigh, then twisted it. The echoing scream filled him, sent him careening into bliss, and when Duo pulled his knife out it took all of his self-control to stop from licking it. 

“I should kill you,” it was soft, almost monotone, Duo’s eyes flat. “But he asked me not to, and I owe him.” He stepped back, flipping his knife in the air and then throwing it at him. It hit Thomas solidly in the shoulder, Duo’s laughter ringing through the room as he turned away from him, looking at Trowa with glowing eyes, triumph written all over him. 

“Was it good for you?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow. 

"Good job." Trowa stroked his fingers along curve of Duo’s cheek, trailing them to the edge of his jaw and curving around his neck, his thumb rubbing small circles at the skin beneath his ear. Duo turned into Trowa’s hand with a shudder. His nerves were lit like a livewire, buzzing with adrenaline and need. And Trowa’s touch soothed them or him, brought a welcome relief to the chaos running rampant through his veins. He bit his lip, eyes shutting, every cell in his body yearning towards him. Trowa’s hand was soft, calloused, and all Duo wanted was a kiss. To feel Trowa’s lips against his own. His fingers moved, stroked over Duo’s cheek along his neck, and Duo’s whole body swayed, drawn into Trowa’s space, lips parting in preparation for the kiss he desperately wanted. It didn’t come. 

“Wait for me upstairs?”

He nodded in response to Trowa’s question, choking back the rush of disappointment. Head bowed, Duo turned to head up the stairs. Of course Trowa didn’t kiss him. Trowa didn’t want him. No one did. Only Zechs. Duo bit his lip against a sob, rushing out of the tea shop and heading through the streets. Home. He needed to be home. Needed to get home to Zechs, where he was loved and safe. Everything was a blur as he ran, moving through the Broker’s Porch instinctively, the winding streets and alleys somehow familiar to him. 

Zechs’ penthouse was downtown, and Duo made his way towards it with broken determination, eyes stinging. He wasn’t going back. Couldn’t keep wanting Trowa and not getting him. Not when he had Zechs. The man hadn’t protected him--hadn’t looked for him--but Duo knew it wasn’t his fault. Thomas had sent a photo, had told Winner he was dead. It brought warmth to him, thinking of how glad Zechs would be to see him. The thought dashed the tears from his eyes, had a smile blooming on Duo’s face, shaky and fragile. 

And then it broke. Shattered, as Duo entered the lobby and saw Zechs stepping off the elevator with his arm around a boy. Young and beautiful, with tousled blond curls and large blue eyes. Zechs was leaning in, lips brushing over his ear as he whispered to him. Duo didn’t miss the boy’s answering smile, the flushed, sated look on his face. Turning quickly, he left the building. Walked quickly down the street with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. There was an alley nearby, and Duo ducked in to it, pressing himself against the wall and letting out an anguished sob.

He was alone.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning and Happy Tuesday!
> 
> Just as a note: Italics are, for the most part, spoken in Russian. We thought that was the easiest way to denote a language change, without everyone having to deal with translating through Google, or having to search the notes at the bottom of the page. ^_^. 
> 
> Thank you to Clara for doing an excellent Beta job. And thank you so much to everyone who's commented on this! We're so glad we're finally able to share and it truly means a lot to us that we've got such great people to chat with. It can be a struggle not to spoil things, but we love talking to all of you, and hearing your theories and suspicions!

He heard Duo before he saw him, the trail of messages leading him to where the boy was crying in the alley, the sound echoing a pain he had once felt himself. A loneliness that spoke of abandonment, of utter despair. Trowa stepped forward, no pity in his eyes, just understanding.

“Thomas told me something I think you should hear. Let us go. You are not safe here, Duo. I know you have no reason to come with me. It is your decision; it is your choice. But I would like to talk with you,” he held his hand out, an offer for Duo to take.

“He--there was a boy,” it was broken, dejected. Trowa stepped forward, cautiously, touching Duo’s damp cheek. Wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb, Trowa’s other arm wrapped around Duo’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. His hand slid from Duo’s cheek into his hair, drawing Duo’s head to rest against his shoulder. The sky above them was threatening to release a storm, but Trowa was already in the midst of one, Duo at the eye. He didn’t want this to be what broke Duo. Didn’t want to watch him shatter from being tossed aside, left for dead, and then replaced. From having the center of his world become the end of it.

“It is still dangerous out here for you,” Trowa said softly. “Come with me?”

Duo bit his lip, then nodded his head. Straightening his shoulders, he looked at Trowa with dead eyes. “Let’s go.”

 Trowa stepped back, sliding his coat off before draping it over Duo’s shoulders. It easily went to his ankles, completely dwarfing the teenager and bringing a twitch to Trowa’s lips. Trowa lifted him from the ground and cradling him to his chest, not unlike how he’d carried Duo before. He was able to hold the boy better this time, the wound having healed enough to be tender, but no longer at risk of tearing open. Trowa carried Duo the entire way to the Longs, the rest of the Porch watching their backs. No one would dare strike Trowa on his own territory. And with Duo in his arms, the boy was protected as well.

Until Duo accepted his offer, all Trowa could offer was what he was giving. His name couldn’t protect Duo anywhere else unless Duo accepted it as his own. Until he gave up Zechs’ name entirely, gave up all ties. He wondered if tonight was that night. If it was, he had a reward for Duo. But Trowa didn’t want to influence his decision. He’d been manipulated enough in his young life. Trowa refused to become a replacement for Zechs.

“What did he say?” Duo asked softly, looking up in to Trowa’s face. Trowa rubbed his hand at the nape of Duo’s neck, scruffing him like a kitten. For the first time, Trowa wondered if telling Duo what he had always suspected and finally confirmed was worth the pain it would cause. Was the truth always worth hearing?

Trowa pushed open the door to the tea house, bringing them both in and letting the door fall closed behind him. It would lock automatically, something the Long’s had installed for theft prevention. Trowa carried Duo up the stairs and into the bedroom, not stopping until his shins hit the edge of the bed. Trowa set Duo on the bed, then crawled in next to him, wrapping his arms around him, ready to move at any indication of discomfort. Closing his eyes, he leaned in, speaking softly, lips against Duo’s ear, as if the quiet would soften their blow.

“Winner was paid to take the hit on you by Zechs Merquise. Thomas confirmed it, saying that he was to report the same information to Zechs after confirming the hit with Winner. He only got as far as telling Winner before we took him.”

Trowa took a deep breath, fingers squeezing at the back of Duo’s neck and loosening again as he spoke. “We have been out keeping an ear on the situation, working to keep your survival a secret.” Duo’s eyes widened and filled. The boy closed them swiftly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Trowa’s chest. He was breathing in short, fast bursts, his whole body trembling as he fought with the emotions ravaging him. Trowa hummed quietly, an old Russian lullaby he faintly recalled but couldn't place. With careful movements he stroked Duo’s hair, his fingers kneading and massaging his scalp, the side of his neck, and his shoulder.

_"Little god of death, don't despair. There is life yet for you to live,"_ he soothed the sobbing boy. _"You will see. Show this world what you're capable of, teach them to fear your name. Become the shadow in the night, the monster under the bed, the terror in their fragile hearts. Rise above them, become_ Shinigami."

The desire to make Merquise suffer tore at him, but he lacked the knowledge to do it. If he was going to take on Marquise, he'd be taking on Winner. He'd have to utterly dismantle them before they could return the favor. It wouldn't work, he'd fail. It rankled him, this truth. But it was unavoidable.

Releasing his death grip on Trowa’s shirt, Duo wiped his face clean with his sleeve and sat up, looking down at Trowa with large, sad eyes.

“You’re nothing like him,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for before. I shouldn’t have said that to you.” Trowa smiled softly, reaching up and letting his hand cup the back of Duo’s neck, his thumb rubbing at the spot where it extended to join his shoulder, kneading the muscle there as he hummed quietly in acknowledgement.

"You were upset," Trowa soothed, fingers playing with the strands of hair around Duo’s nape as he kneaded the skin at the base of his neck, a repetitive motion that seemed to have a calming effect on the boy. “You were lashing out, little godling. I did not take it to heart.”

He had, at first, but he wouldn’t let Duo know that. It hadn’t taken long to see that it was said in defensive anger, a weakness that Duo had targeted to get Trowa away from him as quickly as he could. It had worked, but not for long.

“You are strong, so strong. You are a _warrior-”_ the Russian word had slipped out, making Trowa pause before focusing again, concentrating on the right language. “You are a warrior, you will take this pain and grow stronger, wear it as an armor, wield it as a weapon, and you will learn from it. You will learn who you are, what you are, and what you deserve. If you need me to remind you, I will. You are strong, you are your own man, and you deserve the best.”

He stretched one of his arms back behind him, bending it to pillow his neck as he looked fondly at the young killer. His other arm was still extended, stroking Duo’s skin unceasingly. He would let Duo learn to love being touched, that touching didn’t mean sex, didn’t always have to be seducing. Touch would become comfort, a way to ease the pain of life. He would let his little death god learn that there’s more to pleasure than mere sex.

Duo soaked up the attention, looking down at Trowa with a blush spreading over his nose. He nodded, then let himself settled back on the bed, curling against Trowa’s side tentatively. Duo’s brow furrowed as he looked up at Trowa, his face startlingly close. Biting his lip, he leaned in, pressing a quick, tentative kiss to Trowa’s chin. Trowa turned to look at Duo with consideration.

It wasn’t hard to notice the way the boy looked at him, had been looking at him the more they interacted. It wasn’t just an act; an ingrained seduction he’d been taught to employ. There were subtle differences: the way that he flushed, color spreading to more than just the skin of his cheeks. The way that he paused, considered what he was saying, hesitating in touching him in any manner that could be considered sexual. The only sexual notions the boy had made were either in the high of adrenaline, of causing pain, or as a defense, if he felt off-balanced and threatened.

He didn’t want to give Duo the wrong idea, though. That Trowa would only want him for his body, that he would expect sex as some form of compensation for his actions and behavior. He wasn’t turned off by the thought of taking Duo, of holding him close as he tasted what was being offered… but he wanted Duo to desire it for the sake of pleasure, not as repayment for safety or security.

He pressed his lips to Duo’s forehead, letting them linger as he stroked Duo’s hair thoughtfully. He then pulled back, looked into those bright eyes, still rimmed with pain, and pressed his lips gently to Duo’s, a feather of a touch, before pulling back and brushing the tender skin with his thumb.

“Not tonight. You are worth so much more than a quick fuck.”

* * *

 

Duo swallowed hard as Trowa watched him, dread building in his stomach. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have kissed him, and now he’d ruined everything, and Duo was on the verge of panicking again when Trowa kissed his forehead. It sent a shiver through him, stirred heat in his belly, Trowa’s fingers light in his hair. The soft touches soothed his anxiety, made the coil of tension in his chest ease. And then Trowa’s lips were on his, brief and teasing, his thumb stroking after them. Duo’s heart fluttered, his breath hitching at the tenderness of the gesture. Trowa spoke, and his words made Duo’s lower lip tremble, emotion welling within him. 

It wasn’t a rejection. It was more of a promise. Trowa wanted him, but Trowa didn’t want--something quick. Duo bit his lip and closed his eyes, ducking his head to avoid Trowa’s gaze. He didn’t understand. Trowa wanted--what? To take his time? He wasn’t going anywhere. He was there for the taking, any time Trowa wanted, and he would’ve obsessed over it if it weren’t for how Trowa had started it. _Not tonight._ Not tonight, but maybe another night. Duo took a deep breath and held it. Counted slowly to ten. Exhaled smooth and even, then pulled back, expression drawn, serious, no evidence of his previous emotional turmoil visible. 

“Can I stay here? I can--I can work.” Duo didn’t have anywhere else to go. He had nothing. All he could do was hope that Trowa would want him. That the Russian would let him stay. 

Trowa hummed, shifting to turn on his side, stretching out on the narrow bed. They weren’t made for two people, even if one of those people were as petite as Duo. He took a moment to contemplate Duo’s words, his eyes closing in thought, before he opened them again, pushing to sit up against the wall.

“I will not turn away someone who wishes to work for the Broker,” he clarified. He closed his eyes again, leaning back and shifting to get comfortable. He reached out for Duo, tugging him closer to lie near him, to give his legs space to stretch out.

“I will not be your master,” Trowa said firmly. “I will be your employer, the one who conveys orders when needed. You will work for the Broker, use his name as your boon. Such privilege comes with restrictions, as you might remember.” He smiled, but the gesture held no warmth. “I will not protect you if you abuse the trust of that name, if you dare to sully it with foolish actions.”

His face smoothed out as he continued to speak. “But I believe you are already aware of that, and that it will not be a problem. When I am not sending you on a task, you are your own man. What you do, where you go, who you spend your time with… it is your choice. It is your life. You are at my call when needed, but outside of that, you figure out what your life is. I will pay for every job completed. You may bring work to my attention; if you hear something, if you see something, if you learn something. If it is of value, the Broker will reward. If it is not, I will let you know. Whatever money you make is your own. You can do with it as you please.”

He opened his eyes to look at Duo. “Is that acceptable to you?”

Duo didn’t trade in information. He didn’t know how to sit back and let a fish come to him. Gnawing on his lower lip, he shifted away from Trowa, sliding smoothly off the bed to pace as he listened, hands clasped behind his back.  It sounded too good to be true. Trowa told him that he would be his own man. He would have his own choices, that he could decide where he spent his time, and who he spent it with. That was all familiar to him--to a point. Duo’s will had been a slave to Zechs’ will for so long that Duo couldn’t imagine what he would do with his time. Other than Trowa, there was no one Duo knew. His time had been spent either locked away in Zechs’ penthouse or perched on his lap during a business meeting. 

Duo had nothing and no one, and Trowa would hire him, but Duo would be on his own, still. Alone.

“That’s--” Duo straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. Set his jaw, turning to look at Trowa. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m an assassin, Trowa. An interrogator at best. And I-- I don’t have anything. I have nowhere to live, no clothing other than what’s on my back. I want-- I want to work for you. But I don’t know how to be a lure. I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am.” 

“Oh, little death god. I will have many uses for you. If you work for me, for the Broker, you will become the dagger in our hand. The knife that protects.” He slid off the bed, his own movements fluid, calculating, his eyes dark with intent. He brought his hand up to Duo’s face, cupping it, his fingers splayed around the side of Duo’s head as he looked down into those young, jaded eyes.

“I will train you, teach you what to keep an eye out for. But, there is good money in blood. I hear many things, and you will too. I do not expect you to put down your weapons and roll over.” Trowa smiled again, teeth showing from behind pale pink lips. “You will strike fear into the hearts of those who dare to hide from us. Remove those who cause us problems. Remind the world that the Broker exists, that he will not be crossed. Or else he will bring his Knife upon them.”

His face smoothed out, his voice going back to the normal, bland tone as he finished. “And when you are not busy, you can do as you please. If you do not know what that is yet, feel free to stick around and figure it out. You have a room and bed, use them as you want.”

Duo stilled as Trowa approached him, turning his words over in his head. He could be a knife that protected. He could be something Trowa wielded, and as he pressed into Trowa’s hand, he realized he could be more than that. Trowa would train him to watch, would teach him how to listen. It was different from what he had done for Zechs in some crucial way, the nuance eluding him. Duo felt it, though, deep in his bones. Trowa did not seek to control him. Trowa sought to hone him, to refine him, and Duo found himself eager for the process. He wanted to be known and feared. He wanted to move in the shadows not on Trowa’s leash, but by Trowa’s side. His slow grin matched the one on Trowa’s face, all teeth and no joy, and Duo shivered as he felt his body respond to the violence in Trowa’s words, the heady promise. 

“I will stick around,” he said it softly, his hand coming up to cover Trowa’s. “I will learn what you have to teach me. But--” Duo hesitated, then plowed forward. “I won’t be a mindless killer for you the way I was for him.” It wasn’t that he thought Trowa wanted that from him. It was, Duo thought, the last thing Trowa wanted. But it was important. Crucial, in some way, to acknowledge to Trowa that Duo knew there was a difference. He had a choice now. He was choosing to side with Trowa. 

Trowa hummed, bending down to press a kiss to Duo’s forehead again, lips lingering as he whispered his promise. “You will not be. It is up to you whether to take a job or not. All of those under my name can refuse to work. As long as you do not betray me, I have no reason to care. It is your choice, Duo. Every step forward is your choice, every decision. I am merely your contractor, not your keeper.” He pulled back to look into Duo’s eyes, letting his thumb brush the skin under one lightly. “I will never force you to do anything you do not want to. Everything I ask will be your decision to accept, or decline. If you decline, I cannot promise you payment, but I can promise you will not be punished, or thrown away.”

Duo nodded, relaxing. He knew he would never betray Trowa. It wouldn’t be easy to learn the rest. To decide when to work and when not to. But he would learn, and Trowa would be there to help. And he wouldn’t throw him away for saying no. It made him feel lighter, hearing that. Telling Zechs ‘No,’ had led to threats, to being left alone until he groveled for attention, apologizing through tears. Trowa was not Zechs, and nothing cemented it more than the promise he made to Duo, his thumb stroking his skin. 

And then something else Trowa had said struck him. His eyes widened, and he looked around suddenly, taking in the small bedroom with a nervous expression. Trowa told him he had a room, and a bed. Did that make this his room? Was this where he was going to live? It was the room he’d been staying in for weeks now, but he’d never planned on staying forever. He was only using it while he healed before going back to Zechs. But now it was different. He had nowhere else to go. Duo swallowed, then looked up at Trowa, fighting back the instilled fear of retaliation. 

“Is this--my room?” Duo looked intently at Trowa. “Do I live here now? How will I buy clothes? Food? Are you buying them for me? I don’t have any money. Zechs never paid me for what I did.” He needed to know. He needed to know how everything was going to work, if he was going to end up dependent on someone else again. 

“This is your room,” Trowa confirmed. “I do not live here; I _will_ not sleep here. If you do not want me inside this space, I will not be. You can store your things here, add to it as you wish, for as long as you want it to be yours.”

Trowa paused, his head tilting as he chewed his lip, fingers rubbing the hem of his shirt as he sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

“You will also earn money for your work. What do you with this money is up to you. Food will be in the house. If you do not like it, get your own. You can get clothes, entertainment, whatever you wish. Once the money is in your hands, it is yours to do with as you desire.”

“As for your first payment,” Trowa reached for his pocket, drawing out a small notebook and flipping it open, tearing the page out and handing it to Duo. On it was a list of names, numbers, and dollar amounts. “I set you up with an account with half a million dollars. You can save it or spend it, stash it away. Some of the people who’ve worked under the name of the Broker saved up to escape to a better life. You can too, if you wish. Or you can stay here. Or get that apartment you have been wanting. Again, it is your choice. There will always be this room, so you have a place to stay. There will be food so you do not starve. I can give you clothes so you do not freeze in the winters. But I will not treat you as a cherished pet. I do not need a pet; I need an assassin with a will of his own.”

Duo felt a ripple of desire race through him. Not for sex. Not for something to own, but for his own space, his own clothing. Even his own food. Trowa was giving him complete freedom. Yes, he had to work. He would have to earn what he had. But they would still be his things. And he could move. If he got sick of Trowa, decided he hated him. He could leave. Duo grinned, suddenly, a surge of confidence running through him. He belonged only to himself.  He had no idea what he would do with all the money they’d taken from Thomas’ account, but he could figure that out later. It wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yes,” he spoke softly, then laughed, head falling back. “Yes! Mine. This is my room. Get out.” Duo’s look was playful as he turned his gaze to Trowa, giving him a gentle shove. He wanted Trowa out. He wanted Trowa _gone_ from his space. Because he could, because Trowa would go, because--Duo had the power to ask that, now. He laughed again, then paused, throwing his arms around Trowa’s neck and hugging him tightly. 

“Thank you,” he murmured against his ear. He pulled back, stroking his fingers over the back of Trowa’s neck. “Thank you.” 

Trowa smiled, reaching out and flicking Duo’s forehead before leaning forward and giving him an apologetic kiss on the same spot. Then he took a few steps back, out of the room, and spread his arms in supplication.

“I am going to go make dinner. Take some time and clean yourself up, and for fuck’s sake, please take that outfit off, it’s covered in blood.”


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday!
> 
> This week features some Duo growing. Our favorite assassin takes some important steps to independence and Trowa gets scolded. 
> 
> I am continuously floored by the responses we get on this fic. I know we both are. Thanks to everyone who's commented, left kudos, bookmarked, or even just read. We love you!

Duo beamed as Trowa left. He shut the door behind the man, then looked around the room, excitement welling in him. His room. This was his room now, and he felt like he was seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t much. The bed, a closet. The chair was still there, and there was a dresser, full of clean sweatpants and jeans, some tee shirts and tank tops. Duo selected a pair of black sweatpants and a matching tank. Laying them out on the bed, Duo slipped into the attached bathroom, eager to wash off the blood.  

Duo stripped, kicking his dirty clothes to the corner. He turned on the shower, unbraided his hair, and got to work, cleaning himself as thoroughly as possible. It felt good to be clean. Wrapping his hair in a towel, he dressed himself, then flopped down on his bed. _His_ bed. Duo grinned, nuzzling the pillows, then shot up, rooting through the drawer on the nightstand. Putting his headphones in, Duo turned on his music and pulled out his sketchbook, doodling and drawing his day. The change of circumstance. The way Trowa had looked with his head tilted.

Time passed quickly. So quickly that three hours had passed before Duo realized. He panicked, launching himself off the bed and leaving his iPod still playing as he ran out of the room, eyes wide, entire body trembling. Trowa had said an hour and he was two hours late and Duo stood in the kitchen with his hair loose, a wild, unbrushed mass, biting his lip and wrapping a lock self-consciously around his finger, afraid to meet Trowa’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to be late,” he said it softly, glancing up, then away. Duo shifted from one foot to the other. “Sorry.”.

“It’s all right, godling,” Trowa soothed, looking up. “I said dinner would be ready in an hour, not that you had to be out in an hour. I wrapped your plate. It’s in the fridge, ready for you to reheat. You are not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Duo slowly released the breath he was holding, staring at Trowa in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He wasn’t in any trouble. Trowa wasn’t angry. The Russian had saved his dinner, wrapping it in the fridge. Without thinking, Duo crossed the room, cupping Trowa’s cheeks and kissing him firmly on the mouth. And then he was moving again, heading to the fridge and opening it, taking the foil wrapped plate out, heedless of the older man's reaction. He was hungry, and had been afraid that Trowa (like Zechs) would have thrown the food out. If Duo didn’t eat with Zechs, he didn’t eat, and there had been many nights when he’d been late for dinner and starved.

Trowa, he reminded himself, was not Zechs. He was nothing like Zechs. He needed to get that straight and to stop expecting Trowa to treat him the way Zechs would’ve. Peeling the foil off the plate, Duo put it in the microwave. Bouncing on his feet, he smiled, peering up as the food cooked. He was almost too short to see through the glass door, needing to hold himself up to his full height. Cooking wasn’t something he’d ever done before. But heating up food? That he was familiar with, something he’d done on the nights Zechs had felt merciful.

The food finished with a ding, and Duo took his plate to the table before sitting down and eating ravenously, humming with contentment as he did, grateful for the steady presence of Trowa at his side.

He'd been thinking a lot about his first payment. Half a million dollars. It was the money he’d set aside, before, and Trowa was giving it to him. Trowa was giving it _all_ to him. He’d gone from dirt poor and homeless to a multimillionaire at the shot of a gun.  There was no way to conceptualize that kind of money. Part of Duo was glad Trowa had waited to tell him. It terrified him, a level of independence that far exceeded anything he’d ever had. His current freedom was too much to handle. What could he even do with financial independence?

Duo took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say thank you again. Didn’t know what to say, or what to do, how to show the man in front of him his appreciation without using his body--something Trowa had been very firm in rejecting. Wetting his lips, he pulled back just a little, fighting the urge to give in and press his lips to his.

“I want—I want my own place,” he said, very softly. “I like--It’s not that I don’t want to live with you. But I want--something that’s mine. Just mine.” 

 “Then you can get it. I will help you, if you want. It’s a big change, there’s much to learn, and I will offer what I know. You will have your own place, a space to call your own. Start looking, take your time. I’ll help you as much as you need me to,” Trowa reached out, brushing Duo’s hair back and giving him a small smile. Tiny, barely there, but genuine. “There’s only one way to go from here, little death god, and you’re moving the right way.”

* * *

 It took Duo two weeks to decide on a condo. It was a small one bedroom a block from the tea house, a corner unit on the fifth floor of an older building. The kitchen was brand new, the floors were a warm, polished wood, and the first thing he did was paint the walls a soft, greyish blue. Shopping for furniture had been the hardest part. Duo agonized over the cost. He had plenty of money, all set up in an account with an assumed name, but it was hard to see how expensive everything was. In the end, Duo gritted his teeth and powered through it.

His home was something to be proud of. There was a balcony with French doors from both the living room and his bedroom, a big window right at the front, soft rugs on the floor. Everything was comfortable and calming, done up in blues and greys. Duo wasn’t the best decorator, but he thought his condo looked good. It was cozy, and beautiful, and it was all his. His dishes in the sink, his food in the pantry. His few articles of clothing in the dresser. The clutter was his, too, sketchbook constantly open on the table, his iPod docked, filling the open main room with whatever music he wanted to hear.

Trowa had helped him get set up. He’d opened the bank account, arranged the purchase of the tiny condo, helped him get a cell phone. And then he’d given Duo his space. It gave him time to settle in and get his apartment how he liked it. He missed Trowa. They still saw each other, usually at the teashop, but it wasn’t every day. It was hard to be alone, and most days saw Duo at the shop, tasting the different tea blends and creating a few of his own, sketching and chatting eagerly with Madame Long. She’d given him a tea set as a housewarming present, dainty white china with skillfully painted blue butterflies. It was proudly displayed on a shelf, the only decoration in the living room.

Today would be different. Today, Trowa was going to take him shopping. Duo didn’t have a car. Didn’t have a license, didn’t know how to drive. And he needed clothes. He had a few pairs of jeans. Some shirts, a hoodie. But that was it. Not enough to get him through the stark chill of a Chicago winter.

 Duo showered and dressed before carefully braiding his hair. Today was also the first time Trowa would be seeing his apartment. Anxiety hammered in Duo’s chest as he waited for Trowa to show up and he checked his appearance again. Smoothing out his braid, darting around the apartment, making sure his sketchbook was closed. That the pillows on the couch were straight. That everything was in place.

The knock made him jump. Duo grinned, smoothing his hair one last time, then headed to the door. He was dressed simply, skinny jeans and sturdy black work boots, a black tee shirt. It was plain, and boring, but it was his choice. Duo felt a slight pang, missing some of his prettier clothes. He pushed it aside with a frown. He didn’t dress like that anymore. He wasn’t whatever Zechs had twisted him in to. This was normal clothing. He was a normal person. Straightening his shoulders, he opened the door to the apartment, grin widening as he caught sight of Trowa.

“Hey!” he greeted, opening the door wider. “Come in. I have a new tea set!” Duo grabbed Trowa’s arm, dragging him and shutting the door behind him, locking it and pulling the deadbolt. He tugged Trowa into the living area and pointed to the tea set with a proud look on his face, eyes bright and shining.

“And this! This is my home,” Duo spread his arms wide, turning in a circle in the middle of the room, laughing happily. “All mine. What do you think? Do you like it? I love it.”

Trowa’s lip twitched slightly at Duo’s enthusiasm.

“It’s very you,” Trowa said with a smile, turning to look at Duo. “And with time, it will become even more so. Have you learned to make tea? Or is it only for show?” He squatted down to look closer at the tea set. Duo preened under the compliment, beaming at Trowa. His hands toyed with his braid as he bounced in the living room, drinking in the sight of the man before him. He’d missed Trowa badly. Much more than he’d thought he would. The Longs were good people, and Duo had quickly become very fond of them, but they weren’t Trowa. No one was, and the thought had color splashing briefly over his nose, disappearing as he looked towards the window and shrugged.

“I can make my own,” it was quiet, a little unsure. “I, uh. Madam Long offered me a job. Part time, under the table. It’s not anything big, and it won’t interfere with anything else! I promise! But I’m really good with the tea, and I’d--I want to have something to do when I’m not working for you.” Cautious violet eyes sought Trowa’s, Duo’s lip caught between his teeth. He was hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He didn’t want to be told no.  

“If you wish to work for the Long’s at the teahouse, you may. When you are not doing a job for me, you are free to do as you wish. Other jobs are fine, even more so if they are for members of the Porch. The Long family will be pleased to have an extra set of hands helping, especially as theirs grow stiff with age.” Trowa reached out, brushing his fingers against the undercut of Duo’s hair. “It will also teach you new skills. You will hear many things as well. As you learn what to listen for, you will be able to understand that.”

“Do you know where you would like to go today?” Trowa asked, standing back up with a bit of frown on his face, his movements stiff.

“I don’t know. The mall?” Duo tilted his head, eyes narrowing as they looked Trowa over, taking in the way he moved. “Zechs had all my clothes ordered online. I’ve never been clothes shopping before, not really.” There was a pause. Duo’s eyes narrowed further.

“Trowa.” It was low, bordering dangerous. Duo put his hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”

“Itis fine, Duo,” the Russian said, “I think the mall would be a good choice. It will offer plenty of different styles and tastes for you to choose from.”

Duo drew himself up to glare at Trowa. His eyes were darkening rapidly, stormy violet and hard. Whatever was wrong, Trowa was brushing it off. Instinctively, Duo knew that meant it was bad. If it wasn’t bad, Trowa wouldn’t try to hide it from him. He advanced on the older man with a hiss, hands fisting at his sides, every line of his body tensed.

“What happened?” he growled out. “Show me. Now. I’m not leaving here if you’re hurt. You are _not_ taking me shopping if you’re hurt.” Duo spoke firmly, with no room for argument. Trowa had taken care of him when he’d been hurt. This was his chance to return the favor. Duo wanted to return the favor, to take care of Trowa and patch him up, make sure he was safe. As safe as he could be, considering their line of work. And if getting Trowa to admit he needed help took having a showdown in his apartment, so be it. Duo was not going to budge. Trowa eyed him, then gave a sigh, beginning to unbutton his pants. Grabbing the edge of his pants and briefs, he pulled them down enough to expose his hip, the wound still red and dark against his skin

“It’s fine, see?”

Duo hissed again, leaning in to look the wound over. It didn’t look bad--but it hardly looked taken care of. Some kind of glue had been used to seal the wound, the edges just barely closing. He reached out gently to touch it, a flicker of fear racing through him. Trowa went places alone all the time. This could happen again. This would happen again. And Duo would be powerless to stop it. He stood up suddenly, glaring up at Trowa, covering his fear with anger.

“You idiot,” Duo growled, exasperated and scared and just a little fond. “Sit your ass down. I’m going to--I’m going to fix this up _right,_ since you don’t care enough to do it yourself. And you’re going to _let me_ because if you don’t, I’m going to park my ass in whatever safe house you've holed up in and mother you until you start needing diapers again.” Duo glared down at Trowa, then turned on his heel, stalking to the bathroom with his braid whipping out behind him. Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the bathroom, pulling a giant first aid kit out from under the sink. He grabbed gauze and antibacterial cream, then stomped back to the living room, looking expectantly at Trowa.

“Just get it over with,” he mumbled, turning to look away from Duo.

“Don’t you ever hide something like this from me again,” Duo retorted, sitting on the coffee table. He cleaned the wound gently, hissing at the angry red of the skin. Trowa was obviously in pain. A lot of pain, and Duo had to wonder if there was more than just this wound. He worked quickly and carefully, wrapping the wound with tender fingers. Satisfied, Duo leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the wrapped spot, then pulled back, glaring at Trowa with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m mad at you,” he told him, blank, eyes dark. “Getting hurt is part of this job, but you need to take care of yourself. What would Mr. Long say?” Duo’s eyes narrowed, his body tensed, ready to spring. It would’ve been a fighting stance anywhere else. Here, it was just Duo. Just Duo trying his best to make someone he cared about understand that they didn’t have to hurt. “What if it had been me? Would you let me walk around with wounds sealed with glue? No. You think I’m worth more. Well, _I_ think _you’re_ worth more. Lead by example. Ass.” Duo looked away from him, the insult half-hearted. He liked Trowa. He cared about him, admired him, respected him. Wanted him. And the thought that Trowa might try and throw his life away—that he would be so careless with himself—made something inside of him hurt.

“Don’t do it again,” he ordered, soft, almost pleading. “Please.” Trowa regarded him silently for several minutes. Then, with a sigh, he closed his eyes and pulled his shirt off.

 “Two broken, one fractured. Light lacerations. I took the glass from the window out, they are clean,” Trowa’s voice was barely a whisper, his head turned away.

Duo kept his face carefully blank as Trowa removed his shirt. It was clear why he was avoiding Duo’s eyes. The man’s torso was covered with scars, all of them speaking to years of mistreatment. But he was still gorgeous, all tanned skin and rippling muscle, and Duo had to fight back a blush, scooting closer. He wondered what all that skin would taste like. How it would feel under his fingers. If Trowa would ever let him follow the path of his scars with his mouth, skim the supple skin of his waist with his hands. Heart hammering in his chest, Duo fought to keep his gaze on Trowa’s ribs, inspecting them closely.

“Tro,” Duo sighed, shaking his head a little. “I can bind your ribs for you, but I’m not a doctor. I don’t--I don’t know if I’m going to be good enough.” He leaned forward, pressing an impulsive kiss to Trowa’s cheek as he stood. “I’m going to do what I can, though. And you’re going to tell me immediately if the pain gets worse, okay?” Duo didn’t bother to glare at him. Moving quickly, he brought the first aid kit into the living room, setting it on the table. The ribs were dark, purpled, and Duo could only hope what his limited skill would be enough. Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, he settled next to Trowa on the couch, carefully and tightly binding his ribs. Trowa flinched at the first touch, but as Duo bound his ribs, the tension in him faded.

“We should reschedule shopping,” he suggested, eyes flicking briefly to Trowa’s face. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself because you were trying to help me.”

"We should still go," Trowa disagreed. "I am sure you will make certain I do not overexert myself. You are the one shopping today, after all. I am merely along as moral support."

Duo rolled his eyes at the tease, sitting back and giving Trowa an exasperated look. Of course he would say that. He raked his eyes over him, then rubbed his temples.

“Fine,” the amusement was clear in his voice. “But if you do overexert yourself I’m gonna make you sleep here tonight.” Duo waggled his finger at him in mock seriousness, then sprang up, collecting the first aid kit. He did want to go shopping, and Trowa was sort of necessary. There was no way he could get all of the clothing he would be buying home without Trowa’s car. The Russian would also provide valuable feedback. Duo wasn’t sure how to dress himself now, without Zechs’ influence. It was new, choosing clothes without automatically defaulting to whatever would look sexiest. Whatever would best make his body and face in to a weapon.

With the first aid kit tucked away, Duo shut the bathroom door and stood in the hall with his hands on his hips, grinning excitedly at Trowa. “Come on, Tro. Let’s do this.”

 


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! This is one of our favorite chapters, and we're so glad we finally get to share it with all of you!
> 
>  
> 
> There is some Duo struggling with his identity and gender in this chapter, so be aware. It's nothing drawn out, but it is there, and we didn't want to not warn about it! Other than that--well! It's a surprise. Also! Remember that italics are not English. In this chapter, all italics are Russian! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again to our lovely readers. Your comments make my day. It's so good to know people are enjoying reading this fic as much as we enjoyed writing it. And thank you to Clara, our lovely and wonderful beta, who is so patient with us!

Trowa stood, pulling his shirt back on quickly and tugging it back down. Trowa pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple, then turned and headed to the door. “Have your wallet?”  

“I’ve got it,” Duo patted his pocket. The wallet was there with his phone and his headphones. So far, he only had two numbers: Trowa’s and the Longs. But those were the only two that counted, in his mind. There was no one else in his life, and Duo was okay with that. His life had been crowded before, full of people who didn’t know him. People who didn’t care about him. The Longs cared about him. And, if the kisses the taller man kept pressing to his hair and temple were any indication, so did Trowa.  

Trowa stumped him. For a long time, Duo had been convinced that Trowa didn’t want him. His comment in the safe house had surprised him, and thrown him a little. The Russian was affectionate, and attentive, but he didn’t seem interested in Duo sexually. They were friends. Very affectionate friends, and sometimes Trowa seemed more like an older brother than a potential lover. Duo had no idea how to address it. He liked Trowa, and he wanted him badly, but the man didn’t seem to think he was serious.  

Sliding into the car with Trowa, Duo resolved to think about it later. The shopping trip was daunting enough. He’d been dressing for Zechs for so long he didn’t know what his own style was. There were clothes he missed. Things he’d worn with Zechs that had made him feel good about himself, that he’d thought looked good on him. But what if they’d only felt good because Zechs had liked them? How could he make sure he was dressing for himself, that what he liked he liked on his own, and not as some kind of lingering affection for the blond who had molded him? Duo fidgeted in his seat, staring out the window quietly as they drove, then cleared his throat.  

“There are a lot of stores at the mall, right? Lots of options? I don’t even know how to start. Do we just go in? Wherever? Are there rules to shopping? What if I do something wrong?” He turned an anguished look to Trowa, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. “I want to have my own clothes, but I don’t want to just-- dress like he taught me to.”  

“There are many different kinds of stores. We can visit as many as you like, we have all day. The mall was a good place to choose as there are different tastes and styles available.” Trowa’s response was quiet, assured, and it soothed Duo. 

 He turned into the parking lot of the mall. It wasn’t too crowded for a late Tuesday morning, and it was easy to find a spot. “You do not have to buy things immediately. There are not many rules to shopping, but some things that help are trying them on before you buy them, so you know how they look. This can help you decide if you like them or not, too. A lot of clothes come in the same style, but different colors, so find things you like in the colors you like. If you get stuck, I am here to help. Let us start simple, and work our way from there. You need a bit of everything, and so we can get the easy things out of the way first. Socks, underwear, those will not take as long.” 

Duo listened intently to Trowa, nodding as he spoke. He’d shopped online before, with Zechs, but it would be different to see everything. To be able to try things on, and touch the fabric. Smiling a little, Duo slid out of the car, adjusting his hoodie and drawing his braid into his hands, as he stared up at the big building. It was a little intimidating. The mall had tons of stores and tons of choices and lots of people, and those were all things Duo wasn’t really prepared to deal with. Not in these terms. His lips twitched, and he gave Trowa an amused, sidelong glance. 

“This is ridiculous,” he murmured, coming even with Trowa’s side. “I can break into an ambassador’s house, seduce my way into his bedroom, and then kill his wife and frame him for it without batting a single eyelash. But shopping for clothes terrifies me!” Duo laughed, thin and tinny, fingers moving nervously over his braid. He wanted to ask Trowa to help him decide what to buy, but he knew the man would say no. This had to be Duo’s decision. His wardrobe was his choice. They entered the mall and Duo took a breath, then looked up at Trowa, hand closing gently around his wrist, sorting through his thoughts.  

“Okay,” he nodded. “I don’t--really like boxers. They’re--too much fabric.” Duo’s nose wrinkled. “Can we--” Duo paused, looking in to a store with widening eyes. It was pink, full of lace and silk, panties lining a table. There were women in the store, looking through the items, collecting them in a black basket. Duo bit his lip and turned away, jaw tensing. He wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t going to wear panties like a girl, because he wasn’t one, and he didn’t have to dress like that for Zechs anymore. Throwing one last look over his shoulder at the store, he dragged Trowa away. “Is there a store that sells socks and stuff but for--for men?” 

“Duo,” Trowa said. “What was that? Back there?” He gestured vaguely toward the lingerie. “Did you want to look? You can if you want." 

Duo stiffened just a little at Trowa’s question, avoiding his eyes and looking away. His hand tightened on Trowa’s wrist, other hand instinctively clenching in the pocket of his hoodie. Taking a deep breath, Duo shook his head. He wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t pretty. He was just a boy, just a guy like Trowa. And he needed to get that straight. To erase what Zechs had done to him. It hurt, part of Duo agonizing over it, but he shook his head again, still avoiding Trowa’s eyes. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, voice tight.  

“I’m not a girl,” he said quietly. “I don’t--I don’t have to dress like one, or--pretend to like it, or whatever. I can just be a normal guy. I don’t--need to be all--I don’t have to try to be pretty. I don’t have to be something I’m not.” Duo glanced up at Trowa, then away, leading him towards a large department store. “I just want--clothes.”  

Trowa stopped, his hand turning in Duo’s to grasp him back, tugging him to a stop. He pulled Duo a little closer, looking down at him inquisitively. 

“Do those make you feel pretty? Do _you_ like feeling pretty?” Trowa asked gently. “And I do not mean for Zechs. I mean for you. When you wear it, do _you_ like what you see? Does it make _you_ feel good to look at yourself? Does the material feel good? You said you do not like boxers, because it’s too much material. Do panties feel better? Even if you were not going anywhere that day, did not plan on anyone seeing them, would you still consider wearing them? Or does that thought disgust you?” 

Duo bit his lip, still avoiding Trowa’s eyes. He thought about what Trowa was saying, turning it over in his head. Boxers had too much material. They were scratchy, and stiff. He liked panties because they were soft, and pretty, and he did--like to feel pretty. Dressing up was something he’d always enjoyed, even if he didn’t have anywhere to go. Part of it was wanting to look good--he’d dressed up for Trowa, once, too--but part of it was feeling good. Liking how he felt in his skin. Taking a deep breath, Duo shrugged, still looking at the ground.  

“I--do like them,” he spoke softly. Did it matter that there were only women in that store? Did it matter that people he didn’t know were going to think he was weird? It wasn’t like with Zechs. Duo could choose now. He could dress up when he wanted to, dress down when he didn’t. Is that what made it different? Gnawing on his lower lip, Duo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety curling in his stomach. He met Trowa’s eyes finally, painfully unsure, clutching his hand with a death grip. “They’re soft, and I--do like being looked at. I like feeling pretty, and looking pretty. And I can decide now. I can decide when I look like that, when I don’t. That’s why it’s different. Right?”  

“Exactly,” Towa agreed, reaching out with his other hand and stroking Duo’s cheek softly. “You can choose what you look like, when you feel like it. No one can tell you how to dress anymore except you. If you want to dress up for someone, that is your choice, not theirs. There is nothing wrong with wanting to look good.” Do not let other people stop you from being who you want to be, from looking how you want to look. If you want to get something from in there, go and own it. Do not let them look down on you. And… if anyone says anything, you are more than welcome to say something back.” Trowa pressed a kiss to Duo’s knuckles. “Do you want to go look, little death god?” he asked. 

Duo felt a wave of peace wash over him, a flush blooming over his nose at the kiss. He’d been right. He could do it, if he wanted to. And Trowa was telling him he could talk back. It wasn’t that he cared about what other people thought, or that he’d never heard anyone talking badly about him before. Zechs had said terrible things to him in the heat of anger, on days when Duo had been willful and disobedient. But he wanted to be normal. He wanted to leave that behind. Duo was used to praise, to being told he was good and beautiful. It was hard to live without that, and the result had him scrambling for whatever scraps of approval he could get.  

“I want--” Duo took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders. Jutting his chin out, he dropped Trowa’s hand and marched towards the store. “I want a pair of fucking panties, is what I want.” 

"Do you know what size you wear?" Trowa asked as they entered.  

Duo hummed an agreement, already looking over a tray of panties. He was going to need a lot. Some that were just normal and some that were a little fancier. Eyes momentarily flicking to Trowa, Duo thought it would be a good idea to pick up a couple that were just for show. Just in case. Biting his lip, he began sorting through the piles on the cotton panty bar, brow furrowed.  

“I’m a medium,” Duo answered absently. He paused, looking up at Trowa. “As long as the sizing’s the same.” Duo frowned for a moment, then shrugged, holding up a pair of lacy black bikini underwear. They looked about the right size: small enough to be snug on his slim hips, but big enough to make room for everything else. With a decisive nod, Duo began collecting the panties: several plain black and white cotton, some sheer black lace. He ran his fingers over a silky white thong, then picked it up with a smile.  

“I might need a basket,” he looked at Trowa through his lashes, biting his lip a little. “Can you grab me one? I wanna see if they have these cute lacy ones in purple.” Trowa snorted lightly, amused, as he went to get the basket.  

Duo took the basket from Trowa without looking at him. He's moved on from the practical panties, delving into ones with lace up backs, to ones that were all sheer. Everything else fell away as Duo sorted through the soft, silky fabrics, eyes glowing. Blacks and violets and deep red, a pair of blue. A handful of pristine white, and two pairs of hot, violent pink. In the end, he had over fifty pairs of panties. And that's when he looked up.  

* * *

 "Oh," Duo’s breath caught, gazed fixing on something.  Trowa was only half-way aware of the outburst, trying to ignore him. It seemed to Trowa that Duo had gotten over his initial hesitation, digging through the piles of panties until his basket was quite full. The thought of Duo wearing some of those-- it was too much right now, when he was trying to draw lines, to create a place for Duo to feel safe and comfortable. Oh, how he desired to taste the boy, to feel him through the sheer black lace and cup him-- The sooner he got out of this store, the better. That was all Trowa was certain of right now. Trowa didn’t know how much of Duo’s teasing was intentional, how much was instinctive. But he knew he was not going to last much longer without doing something he’d regret. 

"Do you think I should try this on? I don't know how they fit...I've never worn one before," Duo spoke low, suddenly close to Trowa. Trowa’s mouth went dry as he realized Duo was holding a nightie. He hadn’t seen him go to the lingerie table. Hadn’t even noticed. And now Duo was elbow deep in lace nighties, silk robes. Sheer thigh highs and garter belts. The one he held was black, falling to mid-thigh.  

 _He_ _is_ _off limits,_  he reminded himself, but then Duo held up a dressing gown, asking his opinion on that, and he felt his resolve beginning to crumble, and stepping closer, he leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

“I think you should. You never know what you’ll like until you’ve worn it. This is your shopping spree, enjoy it,” Trowa spoke low, his voice rough. _I_ _am_ _disgusting_ , Trowa thought, even as he felt his body heating up at the thought of Duo wearing the nightie, barely covering his small frame… He never claimed to be a good man, but he never wanted to be like Zechs, either.  _But,_ _I_ _am_ _giving Duo his choice. That makes me different, right?_  He watched Duo with heated eyes, even as his stomach churned in self-loathing. Duo nodded decisively. He smiled gratefully at Trowa, a flush spreading over his cheeks. 

"Come on," Duo hummed, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. "Let's get a fitting room." "Can you--just tell me if they fit okay?"   Trowa nodded, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he let out a shaky breath. Duo beamed, then made his way into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him. Leaning back against the wall, Trowa shoved his hands deep in his pockets, balled them into fists to try and maintain some semblance of self-restraint.  _You_ _are_ _not going to go into the dressing room._  He told himself firmly _._ _You_ _are_ _not going to push Duo against the wall,_ _or_ _slide your hand in his pants, and determine what size panties he needs by feel alone_.  The thought didn’t help his situation, his cock swelling even more at the thought. Seeing Duo in those outfits, in those different panties… it was going to be torture. Yet, Trowa was looking forward to it.  _Just_ _do_ _not_ _do anything_ _you_ _will_ _regret later,_ he reminded himself.  _Duo_ _does_ _not_ _need more of that type of person in his life._    

“Well?” 

Trowa knew he wouldn’t last much longer when Duo stepped out of the fitting room. He stood in the doorway, his hair unbraided and hanging loose down his back, looking towards the ground. Biting his lip, the boy looked up at Trowa through his lashes, the violet smoldering as he waited for Trowa’s opinion. Duo was a vision, the black silk nightie falling just past the curve of his ass. He had paired the thrice-cursed nightie with black panties, the satin shimmering in the dimly lit fitting room, and Trowa swore under his breath in Russian. 

“Come here, little demon, and let me get a better look,” he said, any resolve he had crumbling away at the sight of Duo’s chest visible through the lace, his mouth aching to taste the pale pink nipples, to see if those panties really did fit Duo properly. He knew there was no hiding his body’s reaction from Duo’s sight. And, right now, he could not remember why he cared so much. 

Duo’s eyes flashed with triumph, his flush deepening. He crossed the room silently, standing in front of Trowa and tilting his head. Duo tucked lock of hair behind his ear, the hem of the nightie rising a little. Curling the same lock of hair around his finger, he bit his lip. 

"Do I look okay? Is it–is it too small?” 

"You look amazing, my little demon,” Trowa assured, his accent thickening as he strove to keep himself restrained. He reached out, his fingers pinching the fabric and tugging carefully, watching as the fabric shifted and brushed against Duo’s pert nipples. They peaked under the friction, and Trowa swallowed hard. 

"It fits perfectly,” he assured. “Just perfectly.” His eyes dropped to below Duo’s waist, taking in the black fabric underneath, hiding Duo from him, and he slid his hand up the back of the nightie, feeling the fabric of the panties under his fingers. 

"Perfect,” he assured. “You have good taste.” Trowa could feel Duo’s breath catch as Trowa reached out, tugging the nightie. He shivered, eyes looking up at him with muted heat. 

"Thank you,” his voice was low and husky, eyes hooded as he looked at Trowa. “I need to try on the garter set, and then I think I should be good to go.” Trowa let his hand drop, eyes closing as he took a steadying breath. There was still a lot of shopping to be done, to get Duo to have a decent wardrobe. Underwear shopping nearly took all of Trowa’s willpower, and he had a feeling it would only be harder from here. 

He leaned down, pressing a kiss below Duo’s ear, his lips lingering as he took another breath, imprinting the sight and smell of the little killer for later, when he was alone, and would shamefully jerk himself off to this memory. 

"We have a long day ahead of us still,” he reminded Duo. It was hard not to notice his reaction, the way Duo’s cock twitched under the silk. He whined softly, just under his breath, and then rocked back just a little. Trowa let him have the distance, needing to center himself as well. 

"I’ll be quick,” he promised, ducking back into the fitting room with a longing glance over his shoulder. 

"Trowa,” he called out, after several minutes of silence, fingers shaking a little. “I can’t get the second stocking snapped in. Can you help me?” 

Trowa swallowed roughly, not bothering to wait for an answer as he came up to the door. He pushed it open easily, the lack of a lock sliding out of place making him wonder how intentional this had been. Had Duo even bothered? Right now, neither his mind nor his dick seemed to care. His dick seemed extremely happy to take in the sight before them. 

” _Oh_ _sweet_ _mercies_ , “Trowa murmured, biting his lower lip as he took in the open-back panties, the stockings and garter belt, one snapped up and the other only held up by Duo’s hands. It was a sight that Trowa definitely would remember again and again, and his pants were too tight, every step that Trowa took rubbing against the hardened length. The flush on Duo’s cheeks darkened, his own cock stiff and twitching in his panties as if in answer to Trowa’s visible arousal. 

” _You’re_ _a little minx, aren’t_ _you_? “Trowa said, his voice rough as he knelt down to get a better view, his broken ribs protesting a little but the pain was easy enough to ignore. He examined the buckle, fingers reaching out to touch Duo’s, taking the latch from him and examining it. The fact that his head was also right beside the curve of Duo’s ass, that he could see so much from here, looking up towards the swell instead of down, was a bonus. Duo trembled, his eyes clouded with desire as he watched him, body tensed with want. 

"Let us get you all snapped into place, then, shall we little demon?” Trowa asked, attaching the stocking to the belt, and then smoothing his hands down Duo’s leg, making sure it was holding it in place properly. 

“Thank you,” Duo breathed out. “It–fits okay, I think. Just–had a difficulty with that strap.” Tentatively, he set his hand on Trowa’s hair, carding his fingers through it, lips parting as he looked down at him. It was an invitation. Trowa had a sudden image of himself, undoing the clips with his teeth, using his lips to guide the stockings down Duo’s slim, muscled thigh. Trowa hummed, rising to his feet and cupping Duo’s face with his hand, smoothing his thumb along Duo’s cheek. When he leaned in, he pressed another kiss to his face, before whispering roughly, “It is more believable when you lock the door first, little killer of mine.” 

Trowa turned and walked out of the room, willing his body to calm down, as he tried to compose himself. He’d slipped up, had put his hands on Duo’s skin too much, had allowed himself to indulge in what he couldn’t– shouldn’t have. He’d been at fault, as Duo’s behavior was… normal for him. Something he was still coming into. The boy had feelings for him, that was clear enough, but he didn’t know how to show them. And until Duo could discern what he wanted and what he didn’t, he wasn’t going to confuse the boy any more than he already had. 

“ _Oh, little minx,_ _you_ _are_ _a handful_ ," Trowa murmured, fixing his hair and clothes in the mirror provided.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! Here marks the end of the first "arc" of this fic. No major warnings for anything besides some angst.
> 
> There will be no update next Tuesday! We will be taking a brief break--and then we will be updating on Saturdays. Or very, very late Friday nights. Our goal is to have the next chapter up on May 28th. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who continues to comment and support this fic. It means the world to us, and it definitely helps keep us motivated! While the fic is written (all 42 chapters of it), there's still a lot of editing to be done. Knowing people are as invested in this story as we are helps keep us on task. SO--thank you again! 
> 
> And as always, a very, very special thanks to Clara, who takes so much time doing a thorough beta job, offering insight, and generally being super supportive.

Duo changed back into his street clothes and stepped out of the changing room with his cheeks aflame, hair braided tightly.  

“I’m going to pay,” he spoke softly, shoulders slumped. Duo knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know how to convince Trowa. It felt hopeless, and all the more confusing because he could see that Trowa wanted him. Shuffling through the store, Duo made his way to the counter. There were perfumes lining the shelves near the register, and he perked up as he caught sight of the beautiful glass bottles. Lips curving in a smile, he moved through them, picking them up and smelling each one in turn. Finally settling on a scent he liked, Duo added it to his basket, then went to check out.  

It was a long process, and Duo blanched at the total cost. But it was worth it, he thought. Each item in the basket was something he wanted for himself. He liked feeling desirable, liked feeling pretty. He chatted with the girl behind the counter, flushing dark when she gently teased him about a lucky girlfriend, then grabbed his bags with a bright smile, heading to the front of the store. It still hurt. He still felt bruised, somehow, by the rejection in the fitting rooms. But Duo liked shopping, and he had many things many more things to buy.  

“Shoes next,” he smiled up at Trowa. “And then I think just--general shopping.” It was going to be chaos, and he was going to spend so much money. But Duo wanted to do it. He needed to do it, to reassert who he was through his clothes. It was the fastest, easiest way to reclaim his body. Taking control of his clothing, of his wardrobe, meant that he could control who saw what parts of him. It meant he could give as much or as little of himself as he wanted. Just by changing clothes. “Coming?”  

“Shoes,” Trowa agreed. “There are a few different types of stores, you will want good running shoes as well as general wear. A sporting store will have durable running shoes for work.” He pointed one out further down the hallway, and took the outside again, creating a barrier between Duo and the rest of the shoppers.  

“With the clothing, you can start by looking at different stores, you do not have to try and purchase anything until you are comfortable with what you want, or you see something you want. Also…” Trowa trailed off, glancing at the Victoria Secret bag. “Do not be concerned with if men would wear it normally or not. It is your clothing, you can decide to wear it, society be damned. As long as you like how it looks and feels, get it. That is your assignment today. Get yourself clothes _you_ like.” 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Duo alternated between quiet,pensive and blissfully enthusiastic, spending money with little regard to amount. It was necessary, he reminded himself. It was necessary, and he could buy whatever he wanted. Trowa had given him an assignment, and Duo did his best to follow it, buying sneakers and work shoes and boots and stilettoes. There were dainty straps and intricate laces and some plain, pointed-toe pumps. Buckles and leather and soft, spongy insoles. And that was just the beginning.  

Duo dragged Trowa in to every store in the mall, his shoulders straight, carriage proud. He ignored the looks others gave him as he sorted through jeans and skirts and dresses. There were three piece suits and evening gowns, cocktail dresses and ties. Tons of jeans and tee shirts and cardigans, barrettes and hats and bag after bag after bag. Duo was tempted to change at one point. It was a soft, rose colored sundress, the color bringing out the pink in his cheeks, the many shades of red in his hair, and Duo bit his lip as he watched it being bagged.  

Later. He would have time to wear it later.  

Duo didn’t care to total how much he’d spent. It wasn’t important. What was important was that he and Trowa both had their arms full of bags. He was burdened with clothes and accessories, jewelry, new makeup, phone cases. Everything and anything. And he was happy. Ecstatic, beaming quietly as he and Trowa made their way back to the car. His feet ached, his arms tired from carrying so many things, but it was a good feeling, a satisfaction he wasn’t used to feeling. Sneaking a glance at Trowa, Duo’s lips curved wider.  

He hadn't tried anything else. He’d been on his best behavior, even though there had been moments where he hadn’t wanted to be. Moments when he wanted to ask Trowa in to help him with a button, or a strap. It had been hard to resist them, but Duo didn’t want to push too hard. Not when Trowa had been so patient, watching seriously as he tried on every outfit, pointing out what looked good, steering him gently away from things he felt uncomfortable in. The man was a perfect gentleman, and Duo appreciated it, even as he wanted Trowa to _stop_.  

“Thank you,” he grinned at the Russian, eyes bright and sparkling. “I really appreciate all of your help. I don’t think I could’ve done this without you. You’re an excellent sport.” Duo laughed a little, beginning to pile his many bags and boxes in Trowa’s car. It was late, the sun already setting, and Duo felt his stomach rumbling. He bit his lip, standing up and stretching deeply. “I didn’t think shopping would take so long, though. Do you--Do you want to stay for dinner?”  

“Dinner sounds good,” Trowa agreed, closing the trunk. He got into the driver’s seat, turning the car on and waiting for Duo. “Did you want to cook tonight, or did you want me to drive you somewhere to do carry-out?” Trowa asked, fiddling with the radio. 

Duo slid in to the passenger seat and looked out the window, playing shyly with the end of his braid. He wanted to cook for Trowa. It was something he was still learning, something he wasn’t really very good at yet. But there were a few recipes he’d tried that he knew he could make. There was something intimate about cooking for someone that Duo wanted to explore, and he wanted it with Trowa. Clearing his throat, he shot a look at Trowa, then out at the road.  

“I--I can cook. Can you stop by a store on the way home? I need to grab a couple of things,” Duo bit his lip. Technically the meal needed wine, but he couldn’t buy it. He wasn’t old enough. But he could make do. There was some wine left at the apartment, and tea. Duo ran through a checklist in his mind, cataloging what he had and what he needed. He needed rosemary, and potatoes, and it wouldn’t hurt to pick up some extra asparagus. There was vodka for the sauce, but he needed more tomatoes, and he was completely out of cheese and bread. “If you like Italian, anyway. If not, we can--we can stop.” 

Trowa looked up from where he was fiddling with the radio as he pulled out of the parking spot.  

“Duo, do you want to cook tonight?” he asked, his voice firm. “If that is what you want to do, then do it. I am a guest; I eat what you decide. This is your meal, your invitation, your choice. I will eat whatever you provide. Whatever you _want_ to provide.” He glanced over, giving him a soft look. “I will be glad to eat something you have made.” 

Trowa pulled into the small grocer. Turning the car off, he turned to face Duo and reached out again, rubbing at the back of his neck soothingly. 

“Let us go get you some more groceries, and then we can call it a night. Sound good to you?” 

“No,” Duo was quick to interrupt. “I _want_ you to come for dinner. I _want_ to cook for you. But I don’t want you to just--humor me. I don’t want you to eat what I make just because you feel _bad._ You--you have a choice, too.” _I want you to like what I cook,_ Duo thought to himself. It was hard to keep his voice firm, his expression serious as he looked at Trowa. He wanted them to be friends, even if Trowa wouldn’t let them be anything else. And that meant Trowa had to do things because he wanted to. Not just because he was trying to help Duo learn to be his own person.  

“You can wait here if you want,” he offered, smiling at him. “I don’t need help with groceries.” Duo wanted Trowa’s company. But Trowa had been shot, and Duo knew he was exhausted. That strengthened his resolve, his jaw setting as he looked him over. “You should stay. You need to rest before we haul everything to my apartment.”  

He slipped out of the car without another word, walking with quick, confident strides to the store. Shopping for food was easy. Duo knew what he wanted, and he had no qualms navigating the aisles. Smiling to himself, he made his way through the store quickly, seeking the ingredients with deliberate single mindedness. Trowa would stay for dinner. He’d said so, no matter what Duo was going to make. There was a flutter in his chest as he thought about it, cheeks warming. Duo wanted Trowa to like what he cooked, wanted Trowa to enjoy their time together. He wanted Trowa to like _him,_ and not just how he looked. 

Biting his lip, he paused, staring hard at the tomato in his hand. He liked Trowa. _Liked_ liked him. Duo took a deep breath. He’d never liked anyone before. With Zechs, it had been just blind devotion, a deep-seated need to win the approval of the man who had rescued him from the streets. Trowa was different. Duo wanted Trowa to approve of him, yes. But not because he felt he would die without it. He wanted Trowa to approve because he wanted to have something with him. More than just sex. Cheeks flushing darker, he thought about what Trowa had said before, that he was worth more than a cheap fuck. He thought now he understood what he’d meant.  

“You’re blushing very hard at that tomato,” an amused voice broke him out of his reverie. Duo jerked, looking up to meet intense blue eyes. An older blond man smiled, one eyebrow raising. Stuttering, Duo put the tomato in his basket, turning to head towards the checkout. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, curious and appraising. It reminded him, almost, of how Trowa looked at him. Casting a look over his shoulder, he met the man’s gaze briefly, then turned away, collecting the bag and heading out the door, anxious to get back to the car.  

“Find what you needed?” Trowa asked, his voice deeper, accent thick. He turned the car back on, shifting into reverse and waited for Duo to buckle himself in, to get himself situated.  

“Yeah,” Duo buckled in breathlessly, smiling over him. He decided not to mention the man to Trowa. Not that he thought Trowa would mind--just that he thought Trowa wouldn’t mind, and Duo wasn’t ready for confirmation that there wasn’t much between them. Especially not now, with Trowa’s accent thick, sending shivers down his spine. Shooting a look at him, he watched the way Trowa shifted, the way he seemed to favor his ribs. Duo’s eyes narrowed.   

“Trowa,” he started, voice carrying a note of warning. “Are you hurting? You don’t have to stay for dinner. I want you to, but I don’t want you to overextend yourself because of me.” His gaze darkened, expression drawing. “You already did, didn’t you? Helping me shop. Dammit.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned away from Trowa, chewing on his lower lip. It was partially his fault. He’d bought so many clothes, didn’t even think about what the toll of carrying them would be.   

Duo was torn between demanding Trowa go home and insisting he stay so he could take care of him. He decided on the latter.   

“You’re going to shower when we get home,” he informed Trowa firmly. “It’ll help with the pain. And then you’re going to take Advil--don’t argue with me. You can shower and then rest up while I cook. I’ll send you home with good food in your stomach, and then you will take it easy.” Duo’s eyes gleamed, his expression intent, jaw clenched stubbornly. “I will hunt you down, Tro. You can’t hide from me. Don’t let me hear that you’re not taking care of yourself.”  

“Yes, sir,” Trowa teased, his cheeks growing distinctly pink, eyes darting back to the road. He got them moving once more, the drive to the apartment not far at all. It wasn’t even ten minutes before he pulled up to a stop, parking the car and popping the trunk. “Do I have your permission to help you unload the car?”  

“No,” Duo sniffed. “You do not. Get upstairs and shower.” He grinned just a little at Trowa, cheeks lightly flushed. It felt wrong to order the man around, years of being told to mind his place wanting to assert their training. But this was playful. And he wanted this, to tease and banter with Trowa. He climbed out of the car, loading himself down with as much as he could carry, then made his way inside, taking the elevator and practically ignoring Trowa, paying him only enough attention to make sure he didn’t carry anything up--he’d been serious about that.   

It took three trips. Duo settled all of his bags in his bedroom for sorting later, then went to the kitchen. He poured a glass of sweet tea for Trowa, setting a bottle of Advil next to it, then pulled his hair out of it’s braid and put it up in a neat bun. Docking his iPod, he turned it to random, crooning along softly as he began slicing tomatoes at the bar, lips curved in a satisfied smile. He liked to cook, he was learning. It was soothing, and he felt immense pride when something he made turned out well.   

“Smells good,” Trowa said, his voice soft as to not disrupt the peace that had settled. Duo jumped a little as he spoke. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard him come up. Biting his lip his smiled, muttering a shy thanks. It was nice. Having Trowa in the apartment while he cooked. The Russian seemed perfectly at home, which reminded Duo of something. Turning to face him, he put one hand on his hip, jutting the spoon he’d been using to the stir the sauce in his direction.   

“You,” he started. “Are supposed to be resting. The garlic bread just went in. There is plenty of time.” Duo surveyed Trowa critically. “Scoot. I’ll call you when it’s done, I promise.” It was firm. Duo wanted Trowa to stay with him. The image of Trowa wrapping his arms around him, leaning against his back while he cooked, flittered across his brain, bringing a flush to his cheeks. Duo turned determinedly back to his food. Trowa already knew about his crush, but he didn’t want to make it worse. Didn’t want to be caught mooning over someone he couldn’t have.   

“Do you want some wine while you sit? I have a little white left, and a nice red.”   

“I am good, but thank you,” Trowa said, backing away from the counter and turning to go into the living room. It was cozy - impersonal, but cozy. “Did you enjoy yourself today?" 

“I did,” Duo replied brightly, carefully transferring the cooked noodles to the pan. “There are so many different types of clothes! I think I like shopping. I think I like it a lot. Now when I start at the tea shop, I’ll have plenty of outfits.” Shooting a grin over his shoulder, Duo stirred the pasta dish. He covered it, then bent to check on the bread, humming softly to himself. Almost ready. Rising on to his tiptoes, he brought down two plates from the cabinets,  before grabbing silverware from the drawer. Setting the table, he snuck a look at Trowa, lips curving wider as he noticed how settled in he looked.   

“Do you want--anything? I don’t have any books, yet. Or a TV... I thought about getting one, but I don’t want to spend my time watching it. Not really,” Duo flashed him an apologetic smile. “I figure I can get a laptop for movies, for nights I want to spend in. I was thinking I could get a Kindle, too. For books--then I’ll be able to carry them with me, no matter what.”   

With the table set, Duo gnawed his lip. He poured Trowa more tea, taking it to the couch and setting it on the coffee table with a coaster. Sitting down beside Trowa, he reached out, briefly touching the inside of his wrist to Trowa’s forehead. It was blessedly cool, and Duo couldn’t help but feel a small, traitorous flicker of disappointment.  

“A laptop would be good; I am not often one to appear in person,” Trowa said, picking the tea up and drinking more of it, closing his eyes contentedly. “I normally send a text or email to those I need to do a job, and they get a hold of me the same way. It’s risky, because it could be traced, but I have a technogeek - his word, not mine - that keeps the Porch scrambled to satellite feeds, while letting us get through. Do not ask me how, but it has worked for almost ten years.”  

 “You’re welcome to spend the night, you know. If you--if it hurts too much to walk. I don’t mind.”   

“No… I cannot stay the night. But I will certainly stay for whatever I am smelling." 

The timer went off then. Duo jumped up, grinning in excitement. The bread was perfect, crispy on the edges and soft and golden in the center. He set a piece on both of their plates, then carefully served them both a generous portion of the pasta. It was something he’d made up, tossing chopped onions in with sliced mushroom. There was chopped tomato and quartered artichoke hearts, a heaping of garlic, and a dash of vodka for an added kick. He was proud of it, even if there was no meat. Shooting Trowa a teasing grin, he set their plates down at the small dining table.   

“Soups on," he sang out, winking at him. “You need a hand up, old man?”   

 “I’m not that old… am I? Is 28 old, little death god?”  

“11 years older than me,” Duo teased.  

“It looks amazing,” Trowa said as he took a seat at the table, giving Duo a soft grin. He felt a rush of pride as Trowa complimented his food, beaming over at him. Grabbing a container of parmesan cheese from the fridge, he sat, sprinkling some over his own meal before setting it on the table. It smelled good too, but the true test would be the taste. Taking a forkful, Duo let his eyes drift shut, lips curling in bliss. It was delicious, the flavors perfectly balanced, and he made a soft noise of pleasure as he swallowed, more than a little pleased. This recipe was his favorite, and it got better every time he made it.   

“I never thought I’d like cooking,” he admitted, smiling over at Trowa. “It just never seemed like something I would like...but it’s nice. It’s calming, and I like being able to cook for other people, too.” Specifically, Duo liked being able to cook for Trowa. He was getting the sense that the Russian didn’t exactly take care of himself. With a fierce rush of protective determination, Duo decided he would have to start doing it. Gnawing on his lip, he cast a nervous look at Trowa, carefully tearing a piece of garlic bread. “You’re welcome over for dinner anytime. Or just...over. Anytime.”   

“I will take you up on dinner again. And I am only a message away if you need me. No matter what time it is, my little killer,” he assured Duo. “Even if you are merely lonely, I will come.”  

Trowa cleaned his plate. Duo felt smug, watching as he pushed away from the table, his green eyes warm. Duo felt himself smiling in response, heart beating wildly in his chest. Trowa was going to come back for dinner, and he would come if Duo called. It felt good, knowing Trowa would have his back. His own plate clear, Duo stood, a light dusting of pink over his nose as he cleared the table, setting the plates in the sink and looking in to it. He wanted to return the favor. To tell Trowa he was always welcome, that he would always come if Trowa called. It felt forced. Trowa didn’t need him. He had friends, had his men. He didn’t need Duo trailing after him like a little lost puppy. Still, the offer felt nice.   

Exhaling softly, he turned back to Trowa, keeping a smile on his face as he crossed to stand next to him. The man was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Duo reached out unconsciously, brushing Trowa’s hair back from his eyes and tilting his head a little.   

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I have to put away all those clothes, but you’re welcome to keep me company, if your ribs still hurt,” he spoke softly, fingers lingering on the edge of Trowa’s jaw. It wasn’t that he was lonely. He was used to being by himself. But he liked having Trowa around. Like passing the time with him, chatting idly with him. Duo wet his lips, eyes dropping to look at Trowa’s mouth. Tearing his gaze away, he looked towards his bedroom. “I’m suddenly wishing I hadn’t bought so much.”   

“Duo,” Trowa said, reaching up to take his hand, wrapping his own around it and pulling it away. He brought his other hand up, cupping Duo’s within his own, thumbs massaging his palm. “I know how you feel about me. I am not rejecting you. I only want you to think about this carefully. You just got out of a rough place, you are getting your life together, learning to understand what it means to be your own person. Take the time to do that before trying to start anything. Do you want me because you find me desirable, or do you want me because I did something for you, and you want to repay me?”  

He pressed a kiss to Duo’s fingers, massaging the boy’s hand gently. “I do not want you to rush into something you might regret later. Take your time, I will be waiting. Figure out what you really want, both in your heart and in your mind. When you are certain, I will be listening. I will always listen. I do not want to become a replacement for Zechs’ role in your life. I want you to be able to assert yourself without fear, without becoming utterly dependent on having me in your life to run it. I know I slipped up today,” he looked up pointedly, “at the mall in the dressing room. I was wrong to touch you like that, giving you mixed signals, and I do not want to do that to you. You deserve to feel confident of where you stand in a relationship. Even with me. You should never fear that standing up for yourself, that telling me no, will bring you pain or suffering. Does that make sense, little killer?”  

Duo’s stomach dropped as soon as Trowa started speaking, his throat going dry. He flushed, looking away, wanting to tug his hand out of his grip. Wanting to move across the room, to be anywhere but where he was: standing in a tiny kitchen having this conversation. If Trowa knew how he felt, really knew, he wouldn’t be pushing him away. It was intense, something he felt in his bones at night when he was alone. And what was worse was he was taking away the dressing room. Trowa said it was a mistake, a slip up. Duo didn’t want it to be. He wanted to remember Trowa’s hands on him forever, wanted it to mean something.   

“Yeah,” Duo responded, voice soft. “I get it.” But he didn’t. He didn’t get it, but he wasn’t going to tell Trowa that. He just wanted the entire conversation to be over. There were dishes to wash, clothes to put away, a million other things Duo needed to do. He knew how he felt and Trowa knew how he felt, and Duo didn’t understand at all why Trowa felt that he needed to push him away. Feigning a confidence, he didn’t feel, he smiled, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt.   

He needed to be alone. It hurt. Trowa wasn’t rejecting him, he was just—he _was_ rejecting him, pushing him away. Dressing it up like it was something he was doing for Duo’s own good. It was hard to breathe, Duo’s whole body aching. He needed to be alone, to sort his clothes and make plans for the next day. A laptop and a kindle and maybe tomorrow he could buy a bike and--Duo shut down his racing thoughts. He pulled away from Trowa and ran his hand over his braid, tilting his head. “It’s no big deal. You want me to walk you out?”    

Trowa rose to his feet, his hands twitching, then resting limply at his side as he looked away.  

“You did not do anything wrong, Duo. Just… if you take anything away from what I said, please take that. You were not the one who was wrong. You… you are doing fine. I like how you are. I am sorry. I would not mind you walking me out, but I understand if you  do not.”  

“I know,” Duo spoke quietly. For once, he did. It wasn’t his fault. It was Trowa. Trowa being--wrong. Trowa being stubborn and wrong. Setting his jaw, he shrugged again, then sighed. He hadn’t missed the way Trowa had reached for him. Just like he hadn’t missed the way Trowa had reacted in the dressing room. It confused him. That Trowa so clearly wanted him, but wouldn’t take him. Duo offered Trowa a tired smile, nodding towards the door.   

“Come on, old man. Gotta make sure you get it to your car.” he spoke softly, already walking. “With those ribs, I’m not sure I trust your ability to do it on your own.” It felt awkward. It all felt awkward and wrong, and Duo wished Trowa hadn’t said anything. He wished that he had the words to tell Trowa how wrong he was. Other people had been making decisions for him his entire life, and now Trowa was doing it, too. The only difference was that Trowa truly felt he had Duo’s interests at heart--although how it would help him to be alone, Duo didn’t know.   

“‘Sides,” he grinned as he led Trowa to the car. “The sooner I get you out of here, the sooner I can get all those clothes put away so I can go to bed."  

"May I... May I hug you?" Trowa asked tentatively. Duo didn’t even hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Trowa tightly, tucking his face against his chest. Inhaling deeply, he pressed closer to Trowa, struggling to keep himself from tumbling over the edge. Trowa didn’t want him. Or he did, but wouldn’t take him. Didn’t think Duo knew what he wanted. Duo wasn’t sure which hurt more: the rejection, or the implication that Duo didn’t know what he was feeling.   

“You can always hug me, Trowa,” he spoke softly. _I’m yours_ , he thought. _Yours._ It hurt to be near him. To see Trowa, know that Trowa wanted him enough to ask for a hug. But not enough to believe that Duo wanted what he did. Clinging to Trowa, he shut his eyes, storing away the feeling of his arms around him, the scent of him, warm and comforting. Duo took a shaky breath, then pulled away, giving him a fragile smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”   

“I will be around,” Trowa said. He got into his car, and drove away, Duo was left watching on the curb.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! I wanted to have this up yesterday, but unfortunately, I just had too much going on. Thank you all for being patient with the delay! We are now starting Arc 2, which is roughly 10 chapters (just like Arc 1), in which Duo has some growing pains, Trowa is a jerk, and both of them are stubborn. What else is new?
> 
> Just a reminder that anything in Italics is in Russian! 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Clara](claraxbarton.tumblr.com) for continuing to do a wonderful job as a Beta. And for her continued support. This fic would not be here without you! 
> 
> Anyway--Hiatus is over, and welcome back to your regularly scheduled updates!

Trowa leaned against the railing of the small boat, watching as the shore drew closer. One night in Detroit had led him to Maine, then to a small island outside the US border. Now, one week later, he was coming back to Chicago, a job brewing in his mind.

"Twenty to dock," the captain announced, and Trowa grimaced. He wasn't ready to see Duo. He wasn’t ready to go back to Chicago. But work came before personal desire. He easily borrowed a car once on the mainland, the customs officer being one of the Broker’s men, and started the drive back. The road sought to get him home faster than he wanted, signs telling him Chicago was approaching; he was still a hundred miles out, but that was closer than Trowa wished to be right then. His phone buzzed with life, between the resident techno geek, Howard, and Madame Long, he wondered if leaving Chicago had done anything to put distance between him and his feelings for Duo. A picture of Duo playing with his hair in the mirror, broom tucked to his body as he did so, was set as his home screen now, replacing the one from yesterday that Madame Long had also sent him. Half of the time the elderly lady couldn't figure out how to form a text message, but when it came to accusing Trowa of hurting the boy she had taken a shine to and sending him pictures of “what you could have had,” she was just as talented as Howard.

"Should cut their pay," he mumbled, the threat as empty as it ever was. Howard and the Longs were the backbones of the Porch, the shoulder that supported the Broker's Right Hand. Without them, the Broker’s empire would have failed before it ever began.

Sixty miles until Chicago, and time wouldn't stop moving.

He soon found himself driving through the familiar roads of Chicago, where he ended up leaving the car in the care of a woman who was planning on heading out to Arizona. From there, he checked on the status of his prior safehouse, the inside undisturbed and a new splash of graffiti on the outside wall, and then checked over his car. Nothing stood out to him as wrong or disturbed, and satisfied, he got in, turning the key in the ignition, and breathing a small sigh of relief as it turned on. The Porch was safe under his care, but mischief still ran rampant in Chicago.

Pulling onto the street, he drove down to the Long’s, knowing from the endless amount of pictures sent to him over the last four days that Duo would be finishing up his shift. As much as he wasn’t ready, he had to give Duo the details of the job, and he _really_ wanted a good cup of tea. After that, he’d change safehouses, shower, and sleep. Trowa pulled up to the teahouse, parking and locking his car. His eyes went automatically to Duo as he made his way inside, then scanned the rest of the shop. It wasn’t busy, and Duo was chatting with an older man at the counter, a flush across his nose. Trowa shoved away the jealousy that flared in his chest, moving to his usual table and giving a nod to Madame Long. She was watching Duo and the gentleman with a slight scowl on her face, though her frown smoothed as she saw Trowa. She had a cup of tea in front of him in moments; it was their tradition that she picked out his tea, which meant he never had to wait to order.

“That man,” she muttered in Chinese, “has been here every day making eyes at your boy. I don’t like him.” Trowa hummed, responding in kind.

“That is not our choice; we do not have to like it.”

“You are a fool,” she said. “You’re hurting his heart.”

“It is not mine to have. Not until he learns what his heart wants.”

“He wants _you_. You just won’t admit it.”

Trowa made a noise of disagreement, and Madame Long bustled away, her chin held high. She was done trying to talk with Trowa, which was fine with him. He didn’t want to think about the fact that Duo had offered himself - more than once, his mind recalled - and Trowa had denied him. He could be the one making Duo blush, the one standing at the counter with him, instead of that stranger. The blond smiled and winked, giving Duo a little bow as he turned away from the counter. Duo watched him go with a smile still glued to his face.

Trowa watched the blond man leave with a sharp eye, filing away the image of his face to search for it later. He might not be able to decide who Duo associated with, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t run a background check on them. Mainly - and he would teach Duo this as well, when he started to grow his own network of people, his own contacts and friends - to check and make sure they weren’t trying to infiltrate the group. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to take down the Porch from the inside, and making sure that one of Merquise’s or Winner’s men didn’t try to sabotage him was a top priority. It didn’t happen often within the city limits, but Trowa was always on the lookout regardless.

Duo kept the smile in place as he turned towards Trowa, eyes bright and merry.  He shot a quick glance to Madame Long, who gave him a short, sharp nod of dismissal, before he made his way to the back, reappearing some minutes later with his bag over his shoulder. Pausing only to kiss the old woman on the cheek, he beelined for Trowa, settling in to the chair across from him.

“Hey,” he hummed, biting his lip. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“Work,” Trowa said, pouring himself some tea and tasting it, his brow furrowing a little. Chocolate, mint, and vanilla; nothing like he’d had before. It was not something he would have thought the teahouse would offer. The Longs were generally more traditional. It wasn’t bad, though, and Trowa took another sip, the flavor not as shocking now that he was expecting it.

“I have a job for you, if you wish to take it. Standard pay. Two hits, one disposal. It is a frame job. Up for it?”

“Darling,” Duo purred, his eyes darkening just a little. “I’m always up for you.” He winked. Flexing his fingers, he met Trowa’s eyes and leaned forward, every line of his body tensed and ready to pounce. “When and where?”

Trowa finished the cup of tea, pouring a second one as he straightened the details out.

“Traffickers up north, carting foreigners through Maine and Canada. Your first hit is him,” Trowa tapped on his phone for a second, bringing up a picture of the first target and turning it so Duo could see. Darker coloring, rather plain; perfect for those working in importing illegal goods. He would blend right into the crowd. He swiped the image, showing a mousy woman with one eye set a little lower than the other. A faint scar hinted that was likely caused by an eye-socket injury during her younger years. She also had the same unremarkable coloring: dirty blonde hair, pale skin, dull grey eyes. Nothing memorable, nothing spectacular. Nothing out of place for a couple of dock hands near the border.

“She is your second. They work as a pair. You will be disposing of the man’s body, displaying the woman, and framing the kill on him. That way it will end up as a cold case when he is never found.” Trowa set the phone down so Duo could look at the images better if he wanted.

“As far as pay goes, it is the standard rating. Two hits, five-thousand each. Frame job is a thousand, and disposal is two-thousand. So, altogether, with travel, room and board, and supplies, you will be paid out at fifteen-thousand. Confirmation method is up to you. I will have Eyes and Ears watching, regardless, so it does not need to be formal. Does that sound agreeable?”

“Trowa,” Duo drawled, leaning in. His eyes glittered, lips curving in a deadly, feral grin. “I’m not doing this for the money.”  He smoothed a hand over his hair, then smirked. “God. I already need a cigarette.” There were a few moments of quiet, and Duo’s eyes were guarded when he glanced back to Trowa.

“Let me talk to Madam Long about my shifts,” he spoke quietly, reserved. “I should be able to leave tomorrow.”

“Madame Long is aware that if you are working for me, you will not be available,” Trowa assured, not missing how Duo closed off, going from flirty to cold. It hurt, and he wondered if they would ever be able to sit down again and have tea like that first time. When he could joke with Duo, playfully tease him, and not have this aching knowledge that he had caused this wall to form between them. He had forcefully put it there so Duo could heal, could become his own man before he tried to become someone else’s. Trowa gestured to the pot of tea.

“Have some. It seems like something you would enjoy,” he filled Duo’s cup, as well as his own, and picked it back up to take another sip. “I will email you the details. Have you set up your email with Howard yet?” He had told the man to get a hold of Duo to do that, so that any jobs that came in could be transferred online without a worry of authorities flagging it. He had no idea _how_ the man did it except that he somehow did.

“He never did get back to me on that,” he murmured, annoyed. Howard had taken the time to annoy him about his behavior, but not about if he did the job Trowa told him to do.

“When I got my computer,” Duo confirmed, absently taking the tea. “He’s a weird old coot.” Shrugging, he sent a stream of cool air over the tea, then took a sip. Duo almost choked, his eyes widening in sudden realization. Pulling back, he looked down at his cup, then leaned over, pulling the lid off the pot. Biting his lip, he set his cup down, looking out the window.

“I’m glad you like it,” he spoke softly. “It was a pain to mix. Wasn’t sure it would work.”

“You have a talent for it,” Trowa said, finishing the cup of tea and setting it down. “To be able to blend flavors with such delicacy. Madame Long will be quite pleased with you, I am sure. She will only serve me her best, you know. She is picky like that.” He rose from the table, reaching his hand out to rest on top of Duo’s head, scratching lightly before letting it fall away. “Once I email you the files, you are free to move at your own pace. There’s no specific deadline, though the sooner the job is done, the sooner your payment will arrive. Good luck, and stay safe.”

“Thanks,” Duo spoke softly, looking down. Swallowing hard, he tipped his head back, giving Trowa a wistful smile.

“I bought a bike,” he spoke softly. “And I have a new tea set. I think I’m gonna collect them. I had to buy another dresser, just for lingerie! And I’m making a friend.” Looking down at his lap, he picked absently at his pants, shrugging a little. “I’ve been thinking about getting a cat, but I don’t want to leave her alone when I’m gone on jobs.”

Trowa paused, listening to Duo speak. He could hear a note of pain, a hint of longing, and he couldn't help himself. He turned back to Duo, dropping to one knee and pulling him into a hug. Duo pressed his face against Trowa's neck and clung, breath hitching. Trowa had been wanting to do that since he set eyes on the boy again, and he wasn't strong enough to resist anymore. Keeping his distance wasn’t going to work; he couldn’t be there for him and pull away at the same time, and trying to resist his growing fondness wasn’t working either.

"Oh, my little death god," he murmured, accent thick and heavy. "You are really growing into your freedom. He pressed his lips to Duo's crown, closing his eyes. "I missed you, _little killer._ " He could admit that freely enough. "Let me how you are doing, I want to know these things, Shinigami. Always." He could feel the exhaustion setting in, the tight rigid posture that he'd been using to keep him alert fading.

"I need to rest, or I would stay to have you give me details. But we shall have to meet again, and you will share more of your secret tea stash, yes, _little death god_?" He stood, exhaustion plain on his features. He was safe again, back in his own territory, and the adrenaline that had kept him going until now had drained away. Now, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, get the sleep he’d denied himself for the last few days, and then figure out what to do about his feelings for Duo.

"I could cook for you again," Duo offered, soft and shy. Standing, he pulled his bag back over his shoulder, giving the Russian a gentle push towards the door. "Go get some sleep, Tro. You look dead on your feet."

Trowa let himself be moved, let Duo push him toward the door.

“Dinner would be wonderful, _little killer_ ,” he murmured, slipping into Russian. English was, technically, his fifth language. He was quite fluent in it, but it was not the language he reverted to when he barely had any energy to concentrate. “ _You cook many wonderful things; I’d dine at your table until the end of my days. My little death god can wield a knife both on the job and in the kitchen. It’s quite a turn-on,_ ” he laughed, pushing the door open, heading out toward the street. “ _I shall email you tomorrow, yes, and then we shall have another tea date._ ”

The safehouse he had checked out earlier was further across town, and he knew he wouldn’t have the energy or the concentration to drive himself there. So he walked to the one right around the corner, that was good enough for tonight. The door unlocked easily, closing behind him and locking on its own. He barely managed to kick his shoes off before collapsing face-down on the bed, four days of being awake and alert, running on pure adrenaline, coming back to bite him. In hindsight, he’d be relieved that his half-lucid rambling was in a language the boy couldn’t understand.

“ _Sweet dreams, little demon of mine. I’ll be dreaming of you, too,_ ” He laughed, closing his eyes and turning on his side. Trowa wanted nothing more than Duo to be right there, pressed against his chest, his hair spilling over the pillow while Trowa buried his face in it, smelling the scent he couldn’t get enough of. And he did dream of Duo, that was unavoidable.

* * *

 

Duo giggled to himself as he walked Trowa out. The man was almost delirious with exhaustion, speaking solely in Russian. It took effort not to show how much Duo liked it, the thick accent, the husky laugh. He bit his lip as he watched Trowa get in his car, then got on to his bike, pedaling to his apartment. Things would be okay. They were tense, now, but they would be okay. There would be emails regarding the job, and Duo would want a day to plan. And then he would be in motion, heading towards Maine with single minded determination.

He would not let Trowa down.

Duo flew to Maine on the first available flight, stopping over briefly in Detroit. It was strange to be so totally alone. Even in the safety of his own apartment, Duo was still on the Porch, and he spent a lot of his time at the Longs’. It was a habit from his recovery, one he’d had a hard time breaking. The only difference was that now he didn’t have Trowa coming into his room at odd hours to talk. He still had via text, though. And Duo couldn’t forget about the people of the Porch themselves, always keeping watch. They were a constant presence, something Duo had taken for granted. Now, seated on the plane, he missed the knowledge of friendly eyes on his back.

This was his first job since leaving Zechs, and Duo was twitchy. There were so many things that could go wrong—and now he was without protection. There was no familiar Merquise watching his back. There was no Broker slinking through the shadows, ready to swoop in if something went wrong. Trowa had Porches everywhere. There was undoubtedly one in Maine. But it was unfamiliar. It wasn’t home the way Chicago was. He would be alone, completely. As the plane landed in Portland, Duo took a deep breath. Fear or not, he had a job to do. He was Shinigami, and tonight, he would live up to the name. When the plane landed he would be ready.

It was easier than he’d thought it would be, one body gone forever and scattered to the winds, the other carefully staged for the cops. And he was exhausted. He took a train from Portland to Boston, flew to Louisville, and then took a bus to Detroit. From Detroit, he’d taken another bus to Chicago. The whole event had only taken 48 hours. He’d caught a cab at the station, and now he was trudging up to his apartment building, covering his mouth as he yawned, jeans slung low on his hips. His sweater was big, bulky, the sleeves hanging over the hands, perfect for sleeping on the plane. And then the bus. The clothes he’d worn for the kill were long gone, burned in Boston, and he’d bought the clothes he’d worn home with cash. He would burn those too, but later. Once he’d slept.

He couldn’t wait to get to bed.

His apartment was cool and quiet when he opened the door. Kicking off his boots, Duo tapped the thermostat, turning it up just a little. He stripped his sweater off, tossing it over the dining table, dropping his bag next to it. Making his way to his bedroom, he tossed his socks into his hamper, and tugged his t-shirt over his head. Shimmying out of his jeans, Duo left his clothes on the floor and padded naked towards the bathroom, unbraiding his hair as he went, eyes half-closed. A shower. A shower and bed. Stretching, Duo yawned again, turning on the shower. Then he padded back to the dining room, taking his phone out of his bag and sending a quick text to Trowa. **Home. Shower and bed.** There was a chirp from the couch.

“Welcome back,” Trowa murmured. “I am glad to see you are safe. Were there any problems?”

Duo jumped at the voice, eyes widening as he reached for a knife. There was no knife. He wasn’t dressed, and it was a good thing it was just Trowa. He flushed, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the sleepy Russian a hard look, feet planted firmly. The locks needed to be checked. And replaced, maybe. It wasn’t that he minded Trowa walking in. Or even seeing him naked. But he did want a little warning. He raked his eyes over the sleepy man, then threw his hands up, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you’re in my apartment,” he groused, equal parts exasperated and affectionate. “No problems. I’m going to shower.” Duo whirled, his hair flitting enticingly at the curve of his ass, and marched to the shower, cheeks still dark pink. He didn’t want to shower alone. He wanted to call out, to invite Trowa to join him. The Russian wouldn’t. He knew that without asking. But Duo wished that he would. Sighing, he tested the water of the shower, then climbed in, tipping his head back to soak his hair.

Duo showered quickly. Wrapping a towel around his hair, he stepped out, drying off his body before he toweled his hair dry. Duo pulled on a soft, black silk dressing gown and made his way back into the living room, ready to talk to Trowa. But Trowa was asleep. Duo’s lips curved in a soft smile, violet eyes glowing as they drank Trowa in, lingering over the curve of his jaw, the messy splay of his hair. Sighing softly, Duo shook his head, padding on silent feet to the linen closet. Taking care to be quiet, he grabbed a soft, plush blanket, crossing the room and draping it over Trowa’s sleeping form.

“Sleep well,” he murmured, pushing Trowa’s hair back from his face. He pressed a kiss to Trowa’s temple, fingers stroking over the curve of his cheek, then pulled away. With one last wistful look at the man sleeping on his couch, Duo slipped into his bedroom, pulling the door shut and slipping out of his dressing gown. Hanging it on its hook at the back of his door, Duo braided his damp hair and pulled on a pair of boxers and an oversized shirt. He climbed in to bed still smiling. Trowa wasn’t in bed with him. That’s where Duo wanted him, and he wasn’t there. But he was in the apartment, sleeping soundly on his couch, and that was enough. It had to be.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like Sunday is our update day!
> 
> Anyway--moving things right along. Are you angry with Trowa? I'm certainly angry with Trowa. Don't worry. We get some insight into why he's so inconsistent in a couple of chapters. But in the mean time...feel free to board the Trowa Frustration Train! 
> 
> Many, Many thanks to Clara, who beta'd the last two chapters while on VACATION. What a wonderful person. We love you Clara!

When he opened his eyes again, sunlight streaked through the windows, lighting the room with a soft glow. He hadn’t slept so long since before he left Chicago, and his mind and body finally felt rested. He vaguely recalled coming to Duo’s apartment, the boy coming home.  Duo standing naked in the kitchen with the sound of the shower running in the background. He pulled the blanket over his face, groaning softly as he pieced together the details.

What had he been thinking? Maybe that was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been delirious from the lack of proper sleep and worrying about Duo being out in the field. Stupid, since the boy was a trained killer. Yet the paranoia creeping over Trowa sent him wandering the streets until the early hours while Duo was away. It had been just before dawn on the day Duo was set to return when he finally gave in to the urge to break into Duo’s apartment, letting the boy’s scent surround him, soothing him like a balm. Trowa had fallen asleep, his anxiety easing with the knowledge that he was safe.

Folding the blanket neatly and setting it on the sofa, Trowa padded quietly into the kitchen. If he was here, intruding on Duo’s space, it was too late to backtrack and apologize. So he started preparing breakfast. Better to placate whatever anger Duo might be holding with food. That’s how it worked, right?

Trowa dug through the fridge, looking to see what he had to work with. Duo stocked his fridge like he did his closet, leaving Trowa with a wide range of options to pick from. He pulled out the carton of eggs, a few potatoes, and a roll of some odd fake sausage meat. He stared at it, turning it over in his hands, brows furrowing. He’d never mentioned his avoidance of meat with Duo before. Either Madame Long mentioned it, or Duo had been paying more attention to Trowa than he’d realized. But the warm spot in his chest remained as he turned the stove on, putting the crumbles in and starting to heat them up as he got to work cutting up the potatoes.

It was at he was beating the eggs together that Duo made his silent way into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking at Trowa with a sleepy, befuddled look. Smiling, he glanced shyly at Trowa through his lashes, sleeves falling over the edges of his hand as he fidgeted with his braid, hair half-falling out of it, curling in wisps around his face.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice husky with sleep. “Breakfast?”

“Good morning,” Trowa murmured, his accent lighter than it had been in days. “I am not sure which fruit you like in the morning, so I did not pick any yet,” he said. “If you want some, get it out, da?” He poured the eggs onto the potato mixture. “You are too thin.  You will eat much today.”

His English wasn’t entirely back to his usual standards. After finally having a night of good rest, he was able to focus on his words again, on his speech, and the slip-ups into his native tongue were less frequent. But it wasn’t the easiest language to remember when he was fully alert, and he’d only been speaking it for eight years. He didn’t move to the US until he was fifteen, and didn’t bother learning English until he was almost twenty. Trying to speak it while exhausted was almost impossible. Shaking his head to knock the thoughts away, he glanced over at Duo, taking in the sweater and boxers, smiling lightly. The boy was adorable, mussed with sleep, and he told him so.

“You look very cute this morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” he pulled a cantaloupe out of the fridge. “Did you? I know the couch is comfortable, but it can’t be that nice. And you’ve got such long legs.” Duo smiled at Trowa, moving to the island where he could cut the melon out of Trowa’s way. 

Duo finished slicing the melon and toweled his hands dry, turning and stepping up behind him. There were arms around his waist before Trowa realized it was happening, Duo moving away almost immediately after. The boy’s cheeks were flaming as he grabbed plates from the cabinet, ducking his head as he set the table. Duo arranged the melon on a plate and left it on the table, turning back to Trowa, fingers curled around the bottom of his braid.

“Do you need any help?”

“Hmm,” Trowa hummed, turning the heat off. He turned around, wrapping his arms around Duo and pulling him close, pressing his face into his bed tousled hair and breathing deeply. It was the scent he’d been seeking when he came to Duo’s apartment, and while there were traces, it wasn’t the same as getting it straight from the source. The boy melted immediately against him, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He clung, pressing his face in to Trowa's shirt, inhaling deeply.

“If you want to hug me, you can,” he said, voice rough and deep. “I know-- I know it is hard right now. The way things are. But I do care about you, little death god.” He pressed a kiss to the mess of hair before pulling back with a wry grin.

“Let’s eat, da?” He picked up the pan, stepping around Duo to scoop the mixture onto the plates, setting the leftovers back on the stove so the pan didn’t burn the counter. He glanced at Duo, reaching out to tuck some loose hairs behind his ear and smiling lightly. “Eat plenty, you need it.”

“I’m not really that skinny,” Duo pointed out.  “I’m mostly muscle.” Duo’s eyes were closed in bliss as he ate, lips curved in a smile. Finishing his bite, he looked curiously at Trowa, head tilting a little. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Trowa didn’t answer for several minutes, slowly chewing his food to give him more time to come up with a response. It was a normal question people asked when you prepared them a meal, but Trowa hadn’t thought of how to answer, what he would say. He had learned to cook when he was younger, before leaving Russia, before starting his criminal empire. Back when he was still a stupid little shit with no sense of what living meant. He set the fork down, the memories souring his stomach, and gave Duo a small smile to hide the pain.

“I learned a long time ago. I do not do it much. I hate cooking. But I broke into your apartment and slept here, so I wanted to do something in repayment.” There, that was good, right? He poked at the pieces of potato, seasoned and fried and churning his stomach. Why had he cooked? What had made him want to cook?

_You wanted to do something to please Duo, and you did what you are familiar with._ His thoughts mocked him, and he dutifully shoved more potato into his mouth to stifle the sigh that wanted to escape. The silence that descended was palpable, and swallowing, he dipped his head forward, avoiding Duo’s eyes as he spoke.

“Madame Long will be happy to see you are well. She is not happy with me for making you do… dangerous things.” An understatement, the old woman had threatened him with a spoon the last time he had been over there, and since he had seen her kill a man with kitchen tools before, he didn’t doubt her words. “Go assure her you are alive and well.”

“Trowa,” Duo started, fumbling with it. He bit his lip, then pulled away. He stood, collecting their plates.  “Thank you for cooking breakfast.”

Trowa relaxed, the tension leaving his body as Duo dropped the subject. His smiled softened, becoming more genuine, and he tried to shake off the remaining agitation; he could see how it affected Duo, how it set the boy on edge as well. He didn’t want to do that to Duo. The little killer shouldn’t have to deal with Trowa’s problems.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he said, soft and sincere. “I have not… cooked for anyone in years.” His voice was hesitant, but he continued on regardless. “Have not felt the need to. But… I am not good with apologies. And I am not good with… bubbles?” he bit his lip, thinking of the term. Howard had said it often, that Trowa invaded people’s… bubbles. But that was not the term he needed. He made a gesture with his hand, looking at Duo imploringly. “Privacy bubble.”

“Oh,” Duo laughed a bit, affectionate and warm. “Personal space. Personal bubble.” Duo tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear and giggled louder.

“Yes, personal bubble. I am always invading them. I do not understand it,” Trowa admitted, annoyed. “How can I invade what is not there?” Huffing, he crossed his arms. Stepping behind his chair, Duo wrapped his arms around Trowa’s shoulder, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheek. Trowa leaned his head back against Duo, eyes closing at the kiss.

“Your past belongs to you,” the boy spoke quietly. “I want to know about it, but I’m not gonna force you. Not when you’ve never forced me.” Duo squeezed him again, then pulled away, cheeks a delicate pink. It was as if a band snapped inside of him, the last of Trowa’s tension fading at Duo’s words.

“Thank you,” he murmured, opening his eyes to watch Duo put away the remains of their breakfast. Trowa stood, stretching tall, feeling a few of the joints in his back pop as he did so. He tilted his head side-to-side to get rid of the kinks from it as well, and when he finished, he felt more alert, more awake.

“Everything went okay with your job, yes? I did not hear of any troubles - you are very stealthy, a good assassin. My Eyes have a hard time spotting you. If you encountered any problems, or there was a concern, let me know. I want you to be able to do your job to the best of your abilities, and if I can fix something, I will. Information, locations, people present; those details matter much,” he paused, took a breath, and reworded. “matter _a lot_ ,” there, that was better, “to me. I do not like sending anyone out with faulty information. So even if it did not happen now, if it happens at any time, let me know. I pride myself on having the most accurate intel, and if you are working with less than that, anything that goes wrong is because of me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Duo teased, setting the pan to soak. He rolled his eyes, blowing his bangs out of his face, elbow deep in soapy water, gaze fond as he looked at Trowa

“Trowa,” Duo spoke slowly, giving him an amused look. “I’ve been working at being unseen since I was born. I was a thief, before I was an assassin. No one sees me unless I want them to. But I’ll let you know if anything ever happens.”

“Good,” Trowa gave a firm nod, appeased. Trowa’s Eyes and Ears served as an extension of him. If anything went wrong from the information he provided, it was the fault of the Broker. It was why he traveled so much, hiding inside his own network as one of them, walking among them without their knowledge. It was why he kept such rigorous tabs on their actions, and made sure to watch how they used his name. Any of their failures were, in the end, Trowa’s failures.

“I have to work. Go and show Madame Long that I did not send you to your death. Then maybe she’ll stop calling me every hour,” he muttered the last part, fond annoyance creeping into his voice. He was really fond of the old woman, even if she treated him like a child often.

“I’ll check in,” he agreed, beaming up at Trowa.

Giving Duo a kiss atop his head, Trowa headed for the door. “I shall see you around, little killer. Rest well.” Duo hesitated, then stepped forward, putting his hand on Trowa’s arm to stop him.

“Trowa--” Duo’s voice cut off. He swallowed, then gave a bright, teasing grin. “Don’t forget about dinner. Tomorrow?”

Trowa nodded, his throat tightening as he saw the flash of pain in the boy’s eyes. He was the cause of that. He was the reason that Duo was hurting. But he had no choice. This was the best for Duo, this would help Duo in the long run.

“I will be here. Seven?” he checked his phone, pulling up his calendar. “Seven is good. I have business that runs until just before. It will be nice to end the day on a good meal. I will bring wine, so we will enjoy ourselves.”

He tucked some hair behind Duo’s ear, giving him a smile before the door closed behind him. He didn’t want to leave, yet at the same time he couldn’t get out fast enough. How often would he find himself sitting in Duo’s home, sleeping there, _being_ there? The thought was daunting, and a little worrying. He didn’t like forming habits, patterns, ways to be traced. Duo was a way to be traced, though the boy was a shadow himself. Two unknowns, circling around yet never touching. He turned from the door, his footsteps quickening as he went down the stairs. His keys jangled in his hand as he shoved them into the lock, his heart pounding.

“Singapore, are you ready for me?” he murmured, getting into his car. He had a feeling he’d be on a plane as soon as their dinner was over, and that would give Duo plenty of time to get over him, to learn that he could have so much better than the faceless Broker.

* * *

 

Duo shut the door, then sighed, resting his forehead against it. Dinner. They’d have dinner tomorrow. Duo would need to go shopping, figure out what to serve. Trowa was bringing wine. Duo wished he knew what kind. Then he could pair it to dinner. Tapping his chin, he started to go to his laptop, then stopped.

There would be time later. For now, he needed to check in with Madame Long. To reassure her that he was alive. Duo’s lips curved into a smile as he made his way to the shower, washing quickly and dressing in a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. He tugged on his boots, slung his leather jacket over his shoulder, and grabbed his bag, making sure his phone was tucked in his pocket. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he walked quickly towards the tea shop, hair long and loose down his back, curling in gentle waves in the wind.

“Madame Long?” Duo called out, entering the teashop. He ran a hand through his hair, looking through the shop. The tiny Chinese woman bolted out of the back room, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly, babbling fondly at him in Mandarin. Duo responded in kind, laughing and flushing as she tweaked his cheek, the pain of Trowa’s absence easing under her affectionate scolding. 

“Oh, you silly child! I am glad to see you well,” she chided, pulling him down to eye level. She was slightly shorter than him, age having shrunk her already diminutive height to even lower levels over the years. Duo obligingly bent his knees, lowering himself farther. While it didn’t do much to get him to her level, it brought a small smile to her face even as she scolded him.

“Going and doing dangerous things, youth these days! Reckless. But you are a good boy, and will come back,” she let go of his cheek, patting the reddening flesh. “Oh, I ought to smack that idiot son of mine for making you do such things. You are too pretty for such nasty work.”

“I can handle it, I promise, _mama,_ ” Duo rolled his eyes. “Being pretty makes it easier. Much easier. Trowa knows he can trust me. He wouldn’t send me otherwise.” he smiled and kissed Madame Long’s cheek, then went to work. The look he shot her after that was impish, and he made sure he was far out of range, giggling a little before adding, “Besides, _mama,_ even a fierce warrior like you wouldn’t be able to take him down,”

It brought a rare rush of pride, something Duo didn’t feel often. Trowa trusted him, or he wouldn’t be sending Duo out. It made him flush to think about it, as he hooked his apron over his head and moved behind the counter. He didn’t technically have a shift, but he didn’t mind helping. And there were some things he knew were hard on the elderly couple: sweeping, stocking the higher shelves. It took a good portion of the morning as he helped with the cleaning and straightening, righting stock that had tipped over. Once the store was clean, he started a fresh brew of tea. It was an herbal blend, with green tea and strawberry, sweet with just a hint of tart. He was fidgeting with the pot when the door opened, admitting a familiar blond. Duo glanced over his shoulder, then back at his work, trying to keep a flush from rising to his cheeks at Eric’s immediate smile. 

 “Duo,” Eric greeted, making a beeline to the counter. Duo tucked a lock of hair over his ear, smiling shyly as he turned. Eric looked good, tall and broad, wearing a plain white sweater and jeans. He couldn’t help running his eyes over him, flushing at the amused look in Eric’s eyes when his glance turned upwards again. Duo laughed, rolling his eyes a little at being caught.

“Eric,” Duo leaned in, resting his elbow on the counter and propping his chin in his hand. It was a good position, one which highlighted some of his best features. He looked up at Eric with a smirk on his lips, curling a lock of hair around the finger of his other hand. “You here for tea?” 

“Actually,” Eric paused, eyes lingering on the curve of Duo’s waist, the sight of him bent over the counter. “I was hoping to ask you to dinner. Tomorrow night.” Duo bit his lip, expression turning a little shy. He wasn’t sure he was ready to date again. Not so soon after everything with Zechs, and then Trowa. But maybe... maybe dating a handsome stranger was the best way to get over Trowa. 

“I’d love to,” Duo started, then frowned, straightening. “But I’ve got plans tomorrow…” Eric seemed to visibly deflate, giving him a kind, polite smile.

“That’s-- no problem, Duo,” he spoke softly, every word warm. “I’m sure a young man like you has lots of-- plans.” Duo flushed, gnawing his lip. Then he held out his hand, setting his jaw, gaze determined. 

“Give me your phone,” it was an order, his fingers wiggling, and Eric blinked. He smiled as he complied, and Duo programmed his number in to it quickly, handing it back with pink cheeks and a pleased grin on his face. “Text me later. I should have my work schedule tomorrow, and we can make plans.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Eric agreed, tucking his phone away. He smiled at Duo, then left, waving at him over his shoulder. Sighing, Duo leaned against the counter, watching him go, gnawing on his lip. He wasn’t Trowa. Didn’t make his blood race, didn’t make him feel warm and fuzzy. But he was something. And it was clear Eric liked him. It would be better than nothing. 

 “You can go now if you wish,” Madame Long told him an hour or so later, bustling past him to restock the front display with some of the fresh pastries - while they sold best in the morning, there were some who came in the evening for them as well. “It is a slow day today. Go have fun, sleep, you are too young to spend all day here at an empty teahouse!"

Duo grinned at Madame Long, batting his eyelashes at her and throwing his arms around her shoulders. He kissed her cheek happily, then nuzzled in to it. 

“But _mama,”_ he whined, “I like staying here with you!” Duo did like staying with her. It was better than staying in an empty apartment. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but ignored it. Sighing, Duo pulled away, smoothing a hand over her hair and beaming down at her. “I’ll go...I need to get some things anyway. Trowa’s coming over for dinner tomorrow!” Duo drew his apron over his head and hung it, grabbing his bag from the back. Trowa coming over meant he needed to find a recipe, give it a test run. He gave Madame Long another kiss on the cheek and darted out of the store, heading for his apartment. 

 


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! After a long-term hiatus, this fic is back! It is fully written and mostly edited at this point, so we should see more consistent updating going forward! I won't promise every Friday but I will say most weekends. 
> 
> In this chapter, we see Duo start to stretch his legs a little, so to speak. And Trowa is still--being Trowa. 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful chronicwhimsy for all of her wonderful comments, support, and encouragement. Not only does it mean a lot, but it definitely helped me get up off my butt and back to working on this monster <3.

******This is Eric.** Duo read the text and responded with a greeting of his own. They exchanged a handful of texts, and then he was lost, looking over recipes on his laptop, music playing softly in the background. He wanted to make sure that whatever he made for Trowa was perfect. It had to be perfect. A small part of Duo still harbored hope. Like he could cook the perfect dinner and Trowa would wrap his arms around him, draw him close for a kiss and confess to being hopelessly in love. It was silly.  

Duo reached for his phone the second he realized he was pining. What he needed, he thought, was a break. Trowa didn’t want him, but Eric did. Biting his lip, Duo sent off a quick text. It was short, and sweet. Innocently flirtatious. Eric was an older man, almost as old as Zechs, and Duo was flattered by his interest. He was especially flattered that his text received a response so fast. Grinning to himself, he stretched out on the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

**So about that date…** Duo sent the text with a winking emoji. It wasn’t the cleverest of openings, but it got the conversation started. He watched his phone, waiting for a response with his pulse racing, lip caught between his teeth. Eric’s reply was warm and simple, just an innocent smiley. The conversation didn’t stay innocent for long, which was how Duo ended up half-naked in his bed, sending pictures of himself to a stranger, cheeks flushed, body arched. It burned him, made him feel dirty and cheap. But it was better than feeling hollow, better than the emptiness that came from wanting something he couldn’t have. He showered with the heat on the highest setting. When Trowa came, he would be ready. 

And he was. Duo had carefully steamed asparagus swimming in butter, mushrooms stuffed with feta cheese and arugula, and seared salmon steaks. The apartment smelled delicious, and Duo knew that he’d managed to cook a masterpiece. It was cool without being cold, the windows of the apartment thrown open, letting the sounds of the city mingle with the soft blues he had playing from his iPhone. He showered and dressed quickly, hair in a half-ponytail, trailing down his back in loose waves, then waited breathlessly for Trowa, the lights in the apartment kept dimmed. Ambience, he had read, was important.   

He was halfway across the room when the doorbell rang, cheeks pinked. This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a date, and Trowa didn’t feel that way about him, but Duo couldn’t help the way his heart hammered in his chest, the way excitement ran over his skin like electricity. Duo opened the door with a smile, beaming up at the Russian. He practically glowed, taking in Trowa’s appearance with unabashed adoration. 

“Hey,” he opened the door wider, waving at Trowa. “Come on in, Tro.”  

Trowa stepped in, sweeping a glance over Duo’s outfit. He quirked a grin, holding out the bottle of wine with a soft shrug of his shoulder. 

“You are very… cat-themed. It’s cute.” He then glanced down at the bag in his arms, holding it out to Duo as well. “I… I brought you something.” He flicked his eyes away, shifting nervously. “It… it made me think of you. Dinner smells wonderful,” 

Duo grinned widely, taking the wine and the bag. Padding to the kitchen, he sat the wine on the counter, then opened his package, carefully drawing out the figurines. His breath caught at the sight of them, eyes wide. The two amethyst cats, carved by hand. They could be pressed together too, carved so that they could be fitted together and interlocked. Or kept separate, placed to mirror each other on a surface. They were beautiful, and Duo swallowed hard, setting them on the counter and running his fingers over them. And then he picked them up, dashing to his shelf and setting one cat on each end, bracketing his collected tea sets. 

“Trowa,” Duo breathed, turning. He bit his lip, then shook his head, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you. I love them.” Duo darted forward, giving Trowa a quick hug, then pushed him gently towards the table, motioning to him that he should sit. He bustled about the kitchen, bringing a pitcher of water to the table and setting it down. Opening the wine, he sniffed it, then poured a small measure into a glass, sipping lightly. The blush was delicious, and while Duo didn’t know a lot about wine, he figured it would pair well with dinner. He brought it to the table as well, grabbing two glasses on the way, then winked at Trowa.  

“So,” he started. “I haven’t made this before. Well, not the fish. I’ve made asparagus before, and the mushrooms were easy, but salmon is...hard. And searing it! The piece I made to test tasted good, but. Well, hopefully these turned out okay!” Duo pinked, taking the prepared plates from out of the oven, where he’d been keeping them warm. He set them on the table, then slid into his seat, pouring them both a glass of water. “I think it’ll taste good with the wine, too. I hope. I don’t know anything about wine.” Duo stopped abruptly, pouring himself a glass of wine to cover his sudden embarrassment. 

“I never learned about wine, never found a need,” Trowa poured himself some as well, picking up his fork to bite into the meal. He sampled each item, smiling wider with each bite. 

“It is delicious. You are really an amazing cook. I am also glad you like the gift. I will become spoiled by your cooking, little demon,” Trowa said as he began to eat. Duo ate his own food without tasting it, too focused on watching Trowa. He felt a well of pride as Trowa cleared his plate, sipping his own wine as they ate. Trowa enjoyed his cooking, was telling him so, leaning back in his chair as he finished. Feeling smug, he finished his own food, setting his fork down with a pleased sigh.  

“You are becoming quite the talented chef.” 

“I’m glad you liked it,” Duo hummed. “I like cooking. I never got to cook with Zechs. There was always someone to do that for us. It was beneath us, he said.” Duo shrugged, taking another sip of wine. “But I like doing it. It’s fun, and I’m good at it. I like being good at something other than killing.”  _ Well,  _ Duo amended to himself,  _ I’m good at sex, too.  _ Not that Trowa knew that. Sighing a little, Duo topped off his wine, then smiled brightly across the table.  

“How was your business?”  

“Eventful. Most of it was following up on information sent to me while I was gone. But that brings me to what I wanted to tell you,” Trowa said, straightening in his seat. “I will be out of town for a period of time. While I will be able to be contacted, I wished to inform you in person as the circumstances are different. If you need anything immediately while I am away, you can ask Madame Long or Howard; they’re the closest replacements to my presence, and have almost the same amount of influence to act in my name.” 

He glanced down at his wine glass, swirling the light pink liquid thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be more than two weeks, but it depends on the information I obtain by this trip. I look forward to dining with you again upon my return, if that is not too much to ask.” 

Duo’s face very carefully shuttered. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Trowa moved around, it was part of the job. Duo’d known he wouldn't be able to keep him. Maybe things would have been different if they were together, but they weren’t. Trowa would leave him behind and Duo would be alone, left to wait until someone who didn’t want him came back. Pushing the thought away, he smiled at Trowa, shrugging carelessly.  

“No worries,” Duo winked at him. “Gives me plenty of time to perfect my next recipe. And Madame Long is going to teach me to bake, too!” Duo stood, collecting their plates, heading to the sink. “I have a date this weekend, so I’m sure I’ll keep busy. And ’m thinking of getting an easel! The patio gets great light. Maybe I’ll have something to show you when you get back! Well, if I have time.” He flashed a grin at Trowa, then turned his attention back to his dishes, washing them carefully.  

Duo hadn’t meant to let Eric slip. Telling Trowa about the date was wrong. There was no reason to bring it up. The man didn’t care, and Duo knew he’d only mentioned it out of spite. Someone wanted him. Even if Trowa didn’t, someone did, and Duo wasn’t going to sit around and just pine over someone who didn’t want him. Trowa’d had his chance, and he’d lost it. And a small, dark part of him hoped Trowa felt as hurt by that knowledge as he did by the knowledge that Trowa was leaving him alone. Again.

“I will let you know when I am back in Chicago then, I will be leaving early tomorrow morning,” the Russian said quietly, with no hint of hurt or jealousy. Duo deflated as soon as Trowa set his wineglass down. His shoulders slumped, head coming down, and he nodded. Biting his lip, Duo took a couple of seconds to center himself. To choke back the tears. Instead, he reached for his anger, pulling it around himself. Trowa was leaving. Again. Leaving him behind, alone, to learn how to live in a world he knew nothing about. Setting his jaw, he looked up, meeting Trowa’s eyes.  

“Fine,” he said, wiping his hands dry on a towel. “Maybe next time to you come over for dinner, you’ll actually stay and talk to me.” Duo stomped towards his room, slamming the door shut and locking it. It was childish. Childish and mean, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help it, launching himself onto his bed and screaming his frustration into a pillow. His anger broke with a sob, muffled in the pillow, hurt and anger and loneliness roiling through him. Trowa didn’t want him and Zechs didn’t want him, and he was alone.  

Part of him wanted to reach out. To find his phone, text Eric. But part of this was Eric’s fault to begin with. If he hadn’t asked him out on date, Duo wouldn’t have said yes. Wouldn’t have thrown it in Trowa’s face. Duo’s breath hitched, his body curling tighter around his pillow, eyes shut tightly. It was useless to cry. It wouldn’t fix anything. Duo took a deep breath and went silent, lying facedown on the bed, listening intently to the echoing emptiness of his apartment.  

* * *

 

Trowa didn’t linger after Duo left the room, fearful of his own reactions.  He was hurt, and a little angry at the way Duo shut down, closing off as soon as he mentioned leaving. It was his job, his life, how he survived in the shitfest of a world they’d been born into, that they lived in still. He couldn’t be around all the time, and he didn’t know how to say that without hurting Duo more. Making the growing wall between them even thicker. 

He was even more hurt by the words that Duo had shot at him. The way he rubbed the date in his face. It was a clear reminder to Trowa that he didn’t have Duo. If Duo wanted to see someone else, he could. It was why Trowa had put distance between them, had not let Duo latch on the way he had wanted initially. It had clearly been the right decision. Duo would have grown to resent Trowa, would have found himself wanting something more than the wandering information broker could offer him. This was proof, a sign that he’d been right, and he ignored the part of himself that suggest his hurt was because he wanted to be the one taking Duo out. 

He felt like running, fleeing, leaving now to escape the pain roiling in his chest, the cold chill settling over his shoulders. He didn’t want to do this; he didn’t want to feel this. It was why he never attached to people, why even Madame Long and Howard were kept at a good, professional distance. None of his safehouses felt safe enough. When he found himself at the airport instead, he sent Howard a text saying he was leaving ahead of schedule.  

He couldn’t wait until the early morning. It would be better for both of them if he left now. And with a few words, he had a plane ticket to Singapore and the clothes on his back to get him through the weeks abroad. Whatever he needed, he could get there.  

It was better this way, he kept telling himself, even as the nausea rolled in his stomach, the sound of Duo’s muffled scream, then sob, echoing in his mind. It was bound to haunt him for the rest of his trip, but, as he told himself, it was for the best.  

* * *

 

Eventually Duo got up. He cleaned his kitchen, the apartment, then spent the night smoking cloves on his porch. By the time dawn was sending the first tendrils of light over the sky, he felt calmer. Steadier. He felt almost peaceful, staring out at the slowly waking city, resting his chin on top of his knees. Trowa would be leaving soon.  _ Good Riddance, _ Duo thought, trying to force an anger he didn’t feel. Duo wanted to hate Trowa. Wanted to wash his hands and walk away--and he couldn’t. The thought alone made him ache. So Duo watched the sun rise and resigned himself to loving a man who was never going to want him.    

Duo went on the date. And he enjoyed himself, laughing and joking with Eric as they ate dinner. The man was charming, and funny, and he watched Duo with something that was almost adoration in his eyes. Something that made Duo’s skin hot, even if his touch didn’t hold the same electricity. Their night ended at Eric’s house in a splay of tangled, sweaty limbs, the blond taking Duo home just before sunrise. Eric walked him to his door, kissed his nose, and left, and Duo woke the next morning deliciously sore, a text on his phone.  **How’s my baby boy this morning?** Duo answered it with a flush and grin, texting back a quick reply.     

Duo threw himself into his work, mixing new blends and learning to bake at Madame Long’s side. He sent naughty texts to Eric on break, reminiscing on their first date, and then their second. They didn’t have a third. Duo spent an afternoon sending Eric increasingly risque shots of himself in a set of purple lingerie and the man showed up immediately after work, dragging Duo into bed until they were both hoarse and sated. When his 18th Birthday arrived, Eric booked a room at a ritzy hotel and made reservations for dinner, leaving Duo in a state of bliss that lasted for over a week. He chatted endlessly about Eric to Madame Long, ignoring the woman’s stiffness whenever he brought him up, finally wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek.     

“Mama,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t want me. Don’t I deserve to have someone?” She’d been powerless to fight against that, but the tenseness didn’t leave her shoulders. Duo brought Eric up less, laughing about the tea shop, listening to stories of her daughter as they baked and made tea, Mr. Long a warm, quiet presence in the background. It was like having parents. It was new, and exciting, but as the days passed, Duo felt himself growing more and more restless. Trowa would be coming home soon. Were they still having dinner? He didn’t know if he wanted to, and he started staring off into space as he swept, gnawing on his lip, face wistful as he wished Trowa closer and away, oblivious to the Chinese woman watching in the background.      
  



	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! Here is our Friday Update! In this chapter, Duo is still struggling with decision making. It will get worse before it gets better...but I hope this chapter has been worth the wait ^_~. 
> 
> More thanks to chronicwhimsy for the wonderful beta! And the support and the encouragement and all of the wonderful conversations <3\. 
> 
> And as always, thank you to all of the people who have stayed with this fic, left comments or kudos, and just generally been amazing. This would be impossible without you.

It had been a long month. Trowa spending most of the time moving from place to place, following leads and trails, hunting down people who could give him answers, bartering and trading information as if it were a currency. For a short while, he forgot the pain he felt when thinking of Duo, remember how he had looked at him right before Trowa left. It was when he was alone that those thoughts crept back. Did Duo miss him, or was he relieved that Trowa was gone? Did he even want Trowa to come back? The text messages that Howard sent him, forwards of Duo’s activity, were hard to read. The man Duo had a date with, had multiple dates with, texting and sending flirty, suggestive messages. The scolding from Howard was even worse. 

He was back in Chicago now, wrapped in a blanket in a new safehouse he’d had Howard set up while he was gone. The old one, the one he first met Duo in, was burned out. A staged accident, but nothing that would draw too much attention. Trowa had done it months ago, right after their first meeting. It was the best way to cover his tracks. A safehouse was the last place Trowa wanted to be. He wanted to be in Duo’s apartment, wanted to see him, but he doubted he was welcome. 

**You’re an idiot. Just go talk to him, he won’t turn you away** . Howard’s text did nothing to make him feel better, and he tossed his phone on the bed, turning over and pressing his face into the pillow. 

**Go to your boy** Madame Long had texted him, Trowa staring blankly at the screen. Were they trying to gang up on him now? What next, Winner dropping in through the roof and insisting the same thing? Zechs knocking at his door and giving Trowa his blessings? With a growl, he threw himself off the bed, pacing the floor angrily.

**He doesn’t need me** Trowa replied, his fingers flying over the touchscreen keyboard.  **There is nothing I can give him that he cannot find in someone better**

**All he is finding is a broken heart. He needs you, he feels abandoned by you. You left him and he had to find someone to fill that hole. Go fix things or else**

Trowa read it, his heart lurching. Was she right? With shaking fingers, he tapped out his reply:  **But what if doesn’t want me? What if I make it worse?**

**Then I beat sense into both of you! Now go, bring him a gift. I sent him home for being a brat.**

Trowa sighed, sitting down on his bed with enough force to bounce him slightly. He wanted to go to Duo, wanted to hold him close, to feel him against his skin, warm and alive. He stood up, pulling on clothes as he headed to the door. He’d go to Duo. He’d at least try. If Duo didn’t want him there, he’d leave. It was Duo’s choice, he had said as much the day Duo had left Zechs behind. Trowa wasn’t necessary, but that was okay. It would have to be. And, even if Madame Long didn’t know it, he had already bought Duo a gift, while he was in Singapore. He grabbed the pair of stone-carved hair-sticks off of his dresser, putting them in his pocket as he headed to his car.

* * *

 

Duo knew Trowa was back by the shift on the Porch. It was subtle, just a change in the energy. A pulse that ran through every lure, lighting electricity up his spine. He was back, and Duo didn’t know how to feel about it. If he should be glad, or angry. It wasn’t like last time. Trowa didn’t seek him out. Didn’t show up at the tea house. Spitefully, Duo pretended he was glad. He growled at Madame Long, making a bitter comment about not needing the Russian anyway, and ignored her look of reproach. She kicked him out of the shop, and he went home with his hands shoved in his pocket, hair in a messy bun. 

Trowa’d promised to come to dinner, and Duo was well stocked. Not that he was hoping he would show up. He wasn’t. Adamantly wasn’t. Shutting the door behind himself, he went directly to the small wine fridge he’d bought, pulling out a bottle. Eric liked wine. Eric knew what wine went with what meat, what wine was good for sipping and what wine was best served with food. Duo had soaked up the knowledge and made sure to always have several bottles to choose from on hand, just in case his boyfriend stopped by. 

Duo felt a flicker of guilt. He liked Eric. Eric was fun, he treated him well, and he was an attentive lover. But he wasn’t Trowa. Pouring himself a glass of wine, Duo made his way out on to his balcony, ignoring the freezing chill in the air and lighting a clove. He wanted to be happy, and Eric...helped. Made him miss Trowa less. Helped fill the gap leaving Zechs had opened in his chest. He flicked the butt of his clove away and made his way back into his apartment, shutting the door. It was only 6pm. Downing his glass, Duo went to his kitchen and began to cook, ignoring the faint swell of hope in his chest. Maybe Trowa would come. 

He was focused on cooking, music filling his apartment. It wasn’t a playlist this time, every song on his iPhone shuffled together, and he sang along as he cooked, sipping from his glass of wine. Dinner tonight was butternut squash ravioli with a brown butter sage sauce. And he’d done all of it himself, painstakingly cutting the dough for the ravioli. It had taken him hours--it was pushing 9pm now, and he wasn’t quite finished. With another sip of his Riesling, Duo poured a measure of balsamic vinegar into a saucepan. He’d never done a reduction before, and this seemed like the perfect night to try, regardless of whether or not Trowa was coming. 

Trowa, he’d decided, probably wasn’t. It was too late. He’d drained over half the bottle as he cooked, his cheeks flushed, body deliciously buzzed. Everything was done and ready to be plated, and he’d taken a couple of dark-chocolate pomegranate cupcakes from the cafe, hiding them away carefully. Trowa, Duo thought to himself, didn’t know what he was missing. Dinner was going to delicious, even if he was a bit of a mess. There was flour on his cheek, splattering his black teeshirt. His hair had started the night braided tightly, and now it was half out, trailing down his back and curling around his face. 

Duo checked his phone, then sighed. Nothing. Not a peep. He turned back to his reduction, stirring it carefully. It needed constant supervision. Otherwise it would burn, and Duo required perfection. Even if he was cooking for a night alone. His face spasmed, heart clenching painfully in his chest. Dutifully, he took another sip of wine. There would be leftovers. He could take what was left to the Longs. Or to the men outside, crowding around a barrel. Duo had his suspicions about who they worked for, but they deserved a hot meal. Taking the reduction off the heat, Duo gave his stove a pleased smile. It cracked, and he curled for a moment, arms tight around his stomach as he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself.

The knock on the door made Duo jump. He cursed, running a hand through his hair, spattering it with flour. Frowning, he washed his hands. It could only be one person. Eric was at work, a double shift that would leave him exhausted, and there was no one else who visited. Duo straightened his hair, suddenly wishing he’d had time to shower. He was wearing boxers with hearts on them, a baggy, flour stained teeshirt. And his hair was a mess. Hardly glamorous. The kitchen looked even worse, everything still scattered over the counters, flour and bits of squash filling splattered on the granite. Telling himself it didn’t matter, he made his way to the door and opened it. 

It was Trowa. He’d known it would be. Duo smiled immediately, a wave of relief washing over him. He was angry and hurt and resentful, but still so glad to see him there. To know that Trowa wasn’t dead, hadn’t been left shot in a back ally. Howie would tell him. Madame Long would tell him. But having his own visual confirmation that Trowa was alive and well made everything within him warm, his already flushed cheeks flushing darker.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping back to hold the door open. “I was just finishing dinner. Would you like to join me?”  Duo hummed to himself as Trowa stepped in, taking off his shoes. He was more than a little drunk, unable to hold himself back from staring openly at the man. Especially when Trowa slid his hands out of his pocket, revealing a gorgeous set of stone chopsticks.

“Here,” Trowa said, equally soft. He held them out to Duo to take, his eyes flicking to the ground. “They’re for you. For your hair. To put it up.”

Biting his lip, Duo took them, eyes flicking up to Trowa’s face. He ran his fingers over the sticks, caressing them as he inspected them. They were beautiful, and Duo beamed at Trowa, murmuring a soft thank you and setting the sticks on the counter. He unbraided his floured spotted hair quickly, twisting it up in to a bun and using the sticks to carefully fix it in place. 

“How do I look?” He asked impishly. Duo didn’t wait for an answer. He waved Trowa towards the table, pouring them both glasses of wine and then plating the food carefully, drizzling the ravioli first with the brown butter sage sauce, and then with the balsamic reduction. Bringing the plates to the table, he settled across from Trowa and took another long drink, eyes sparkling, anger forgotten in the warmth of the wine. 

“Tell me about your trip. Where did you go? What was it like? I want to travel. Zechs never took me anywhere--I don’t even have a passport. Maybe one day I could go with you?” Duo bit his lip, embarrassed. He hadn’t meant for that to slip out. Duo cleared his throat, tucking a loose lock of hair over his ear and taking a bite of the pasta. “What do you think of the food? I made it myself. I cut the ravioli out and everything.”

Trowa took a bite of the pasta, humming contentedly. He gave Duo a small smile, glancing at his hair.

“It is very much you.” He reached out, taking the wine glass and sipping at it. “I went to Singapore, following some leads that I could not ignore any longer. It was… tiring. I ended up in Spain before I came back here,” he hesitated, glancing down at his plate. “I thought it would be best for you to stay here. There are so many changes in your world, I did not want to make you feel lost again. I would not mind your presence in the future.”

Trowa picked at his food, his words softening as he stumbled through an apology. “I do not want you uncomfortable. I… I am not good with some things. With thinking of others. I am used to doing things alone. I made you angry, and it was not my intention.” He glanced up at Duo, quickly looking back at his plate, putting another bite into his mouth.

Duo took a long drink to cover his shock, eyes widening. Trowa wouldn’t mind him going with him. Trowa was damn near apologizing, and Duo’s anger evaporated. Why had he even been mad in the first place? Trowa was here, and that’s what mattered. Duo gave him a warm, shy glance across the table, then looked back to his food, thinking about what Trowa said, mulling it over in his mind. 

Trowa didn’t want him to feel lost again. There was a faint flicker of rage at that, but instead of reacting, Duo took a deep breath. He rested his wrists against the table, looking at Trowa with speculative violet eyes. Trowa was making decisions for him. Was deciding on what Duo’s comfort zone was, what it should be, and while Duo didn’t want to fight, he wanted to address that. He’d had enough to drink that he thought maybe he could. Taking a deep breath, he set his silverware down and rubbing the back of his neck, meeting Trowa’s eyes and then looking away. 

“Tro,” he started. Duo shook his head, then smiled. He couldn’t do it. It had been weeks since he’d seen Trowa. Weeks. Duo didn’t want to ruin their dinner. He was an adult, and that meant acting like it. It meant sucking up whatever he was feeling and being mature about things. Trowa deserved better than someone who was constantly picking fights with him. He picked his silverware back up, cutting another piece of ravioli and bringing it to his lips, humming with pleasure as it rested on his tongue. Swallowing, he gently kicked Trowa under the table. “I’m glad you’re back. Next time don’t be gone so long--or at least don’t be so quiet, okay?” 

“Da,” the Russian answered with a half-smile. “I will. Has the teahouse been busy?”

“It’s been okay,” Duo grinned. And then he dropped his silverware, darting to where he’d stashed the cupcakes. They were dark chocolate pomegranate, carefully iced with chocolate frosting he and Madame Long had made, sitting perfectly in dark red wrappers. Duo grabbed the tray, taking them to the table and sitting them in the middle. He slid back into his seat with a look of pride on his face. 

“Madame Long is teaching me to bake,” he informed Trowa. “I made these! They were hard, but they’re so good. Definitely worth it. She’s going to teach me to bake all of her recipes, so that I can make them for her on days she’s too tired to do it. And then I can start doing like, pairings and stuff! Which tea and which pastry, you know?” Shrugging a little, Duo finished his last bite of pasta, topping off his glass of wine. “I love working there. The Longs are--they’re amazing. I don’t want to work anywhere else. Except for you.” 

Duo beamed at Trowa again, finishing his glass of wine. He was drunk, just a little, and having a hard time focusing on not crossing the table. Not wrapping his arms around Trowa’s neck. Duo bit his lip, looking towards the messy kitchen, then laughed self-consciously, one hand going to his hair. “Crap. I didn’t even clean. I’ve got flour in my hair.” A fond smile crept over Trowa’s face as he reached across the table, swiping his thumb at something on Duo’s face.

“You have it on your face, too. It is adorable,” he assured, then frowned. “Silly, but not a problem?” He bit his lip. “ _ Mona _ ?” He shook his head, giving up with a sigh. He ruffled Duo’s hair, then grabbed one of the cupcakes, peeling the wrapper off. He set it on the plate, and then took a bite of the cake. “Enjoy your cake, the mess isn’t going anywhere.”

Adorable. Trowa thought he was adorable. Duo giggled a little, pinking and turning to his own cake. They were still soft, slightly warm. Freshly baked, still, hours later, and Duo savored the taste the way he savored Trowa sitting across from him. He was right. The mess wasn’t going anywhere. Duo was drunk and blissfully happy, focused on enjoying the presence of the man across from him. All of his resentment was gone, drowned out by the sheer joy he felt at being near Trowa again.

“I’m glad you like them. Do you want more wine? I think I have another bottle of this,” Duo’s nose scrunched as he thought, head tilting to the side. “It’s cold out, but we could take the bottle and a blanket and go sit on the balcony? Talk? I wanna--catch up. Talk to you.” Trowa hummed, tilting his head a little and looking toward the balcony. He nodded, finishing the cupcake and standing with a stretch. Picking up the plates, he pressed a kiss to Duo’s messy hair.

“Thank you for the food,” he murmured. “I will clean these up. Go find us a blanket and the wine, little demon, and I will join you in a moment.”

“You’re welcome,” Duo smiled up at him. He liked cooking for Trowa. He liked being able to do things for him, even things as small as giving him food and wine. Duo snagged another bottle from the fridge, then made his way to the linen closet, grabbing a thick blanket. Slipping into his bedroom, he took advantage of Trowa’s activities and changed out of his flour stained clothes, drawing on a pair of black yoga pants and a sweater in a soft, deep rose. Duo redid his hair, combing it clean and securing it carefully with the sticks, then went out the French doors on to the balcony, opening the set to the living room.

Trowa made it just as Duo was settling on the ground with the blanket, stretching his arms over his head, and Duo followed the arch of his back with his eyes. Found himself staring at the bared strip of skin with a watering mouth and flushing cheeks. He looked away, drawing the blanket around one side of himself and throwing the rest over Trowa, cuddling up to his side and offering the opened bottle. The Russian had stretched out, and Duo fit snug against him, lips curving in a smile.

“It is good to be back,” Trowa said sincerely

“Yeah?” Duo hummed a little. “I’m glad you’re back. The Porch is different when you’re gone. Quieter.” Trowa slid an arm around Duo’s shoulders, taking the bottle and sipping at the wine. He rested his head against Duo’s hair.

“It is because the danger leaves with me. The Broker is a force that is felt when I am here, and when I am gone, while the name remains, the overbearing danger goes with me. Less people come to the Porch seeking out information when I’m not present . “He offered the bottle back, pulling the blanket around him tighter.

“No,” Duo disagreed, taking the wine. “That’s not it. It’s...empty. And dead.” It had nothing to do with the danger. Duo didn’t feel the danger, didn’t notice it. He was Death, slinking through the shadows. Who was he to notice danger? What was different was Trowa. There was a spark missing, with him gone. A thrumming undercurrent of activity, a lack of presence. Duo thought he could almost feel the minute Trowa walked away, the moment he came back. It was silly, fanciful, and he kept it to himself, curling into Trowa’s side and taking a drink of the wine.

“Do you think of Chicago as home?” Duo asked it softly, cheek pillowed against Trowa’s chest.

“I don’t know what home feels like,” he said, his hand coming up to run his fingers over Duo’s hair. “I’ve never lived anywhere very long. Even in Chicago, I move from place to place.” He bit his lip, tightening his hold on Duo. “I don’t feel safe enough to live anywhere. Not to own a home, to  _ have _ a home.”

Duo nodded. He could understand that. His tiny apartment was home, but only because it was his. Because he was there, and it was where Trowa came to visit. Duo had felt at home in the safe house, too. With Trowa, once Trowa had given him his room. Maybe that was the difference. Duo felt warmth spread through his chest. He already knew Trowa was home, and so he was able to make anywhere he knew the man would be into a place he could feel safe.

Trowa gave Duo a sudden squeeze, taking the bottle and another swallow of the wine. “You feel safe, though. Being here, I feel safer, calmer here.” Duo smiled in response, rubbing his cheek on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his waist, sighing contentedly and tracing random shapes on Trowa’s hip. It was cozy, out here. Peaceful and quiet, even if it was cold.

“You know I’ll keep you safe,” he offered softly. It was ludicrous. Trowa didn’t need him to keep him safe. Killer or not, Trowa was older, stronger. Wiser and smarter and better, somehow, in a way Duo couldn’t describe. But he said it anyway, tipping his head back to smile up at Trowa, all rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. “If you need me to.”

“I know, little demon,” he said, kissing his forehead before pressing his face into Duo’s hair and breathing deeply. He cradled Duo close, tugging the blanket tighter around them, letting his eyes close in content. “It is why I can sleep at all these days. I know that if trouble befell me, you would be there.”  There was a pause. Several minutes of silence stretched between them.

“I’m not a good person. I am not good at  _ being _ a person. I want to be a good person, for you. You make me want to be someone worth the look in your eyes when you see me. To be worthy of the smile that you give me, the touches that you share,” Trowa took a shuddering breath. “You make me want to be more than just a name.”

Duo’s breath caught, his eyes widening. His heart was racing in his chest, every part of him aching. Trowa wanted to be good--for him? It was laughable. Duo killed people for a living, and he was ruthless in pursuit of a mark. He’d done more than his fair share of things he wasn’t proud of, and to hear Trowa talk about himself like that, like he wasn’t worthy. Duo exhaled shakily, pulling back to run his fingers over Trowa’s cheek, looking up in to his face.

“You’re more than just a name to me,” it was soft, tentative. They were drunk, both of them. Drunk and too honest in the darkness. Duo had Eric and Trowa’d told him no so many times Duo’d stopped counting, pushed him away from some misguided need to protect him. Duo didn’t care. Wetting his lips, he leaned forward, eyes searching Trowa’s face. They dropped to his mouth, and Duo swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Sliding his hand in to Trowa’s hair, Duo leaned forward, brushing their lips together. It was a light contact, barely a kiss, and it had his mind reeling, pairing with the wine and leaving him trembling, the hand in Trowa’s hair tightening as he drew Trowa’s lower lip between his own, sucking lightly.

* * *

 

He knew he should have pulled away, should have not laced his fingers into the hair at Duo’s nape, should not have pressed his mouth more firmly against Duo’s, opening his own after Duo bit his lip. Should not have pulled Duo closer, onto his lap so that both of his arms could circle around the young man, their bodies flush as he kissed back. 

He shouldn’t have, but he did, and he couldn’t fully regret it. Not the taste of wine on Duo’s tongue, nor the taste on his own, nor the way he nipped at Duo’s chin. Trowa pressed kisses along his neck, up to his ear, biting lightly before making his way back to reclaim Duo’s mouth. Duo was warm. Duo was real. He could feel his heat, feel his body against his own. His hands were splayed on the boy’s back, feeling the hard muscle through the soft sweater. He was real, and Trowa needed to be real, not a faceless name,

“Duo,” he breathed, his voice rich and accent thick. “ _ My precious little monster. _ ”

When he pulled, Duo came willingly, settling in Trowa’s lap and locking his arms around his neck, pressing tight to him. He slid his hands down Trowa’s chest, mapping the muscles there as he panted heavily, head tipping to the side, a shuddering working through him as Trowa’s lips traced the column of his throat. Trowa’s teeth found his ear, drawing a moan out of him, his tiny hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt. A soft whine left his lips as he rose, plunging his hands into Trowa’s hair. Duo claimed his mouth, sending the fire coiled in his belly racing through every cell in his body, the desire for  _ more  _ and  _ now  _ almost overwhelming him.  

He let Duo take control, let Duo plunder his mouth with a savage ferocity, one hand delving into his long hair, holding him close and steady as he reciprocated. He felt light, unable to care about how much he’d been avoiding this, had been trying to prevent it. But with the the glimmer in Duo’s eyes, the flush on his nose, there was no way for Trowa to regret the way their lips fit together.

He broke their kiss off, drawing a long breath, then rested his forehead on Duo’s looking into his eyes with a warmth that filled his entire being, drove the chill of the night away. Time didn’t exist, the world beyond the blanket wrapped around them no longer mattered.

“Duo,” he said again, though he had nothing to say. There was nothing to say, and so he just pulled Duo against his chest, kissing his hair as he closed his eyes, safe and warm.

Duo whined as Trowa broke the kiss, tugging gently at his hair. He closed his eyes, tucking his head under Trowa’s chin, hands sliding down to rest on his chest. His breath hitched, and then Duo sighed.

“I’m glad you came,” Duo whispered, pulling back. The smile he gave Trowa was tremulous, wistful, the lashes dark and soft around his eyes. Gently brushing Trowa’s hair back from his eyes, he let his fingers stroke the curve of his cheek, smile growing shy. “Do you want to--stay over? On the couch? I have to clean, but. You don’t to leave.” 

“Da,” Trowa murmured, his own fingers coming to play with the strands of Duo’s hair  tugged loose by his fingers. He could see the trepidation in his eyes, could see the sheen of tears in his eyes, and kissed the corner of Duo’s mouth. “I would like that. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning?”

He wished he could take away the boy’s pain, instead of adding more, but he didn’t know how. Didn’t know how to make this better, how to restrain himself well enough to not cause such a hurt in the young man, his little assassin. So he just held the boy to his chest, letting the warmth of their flesh and the wine encompass them.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Friday Another Update! I'm hoping to maintain this, and have a lot of optimism that we will, but it's possible it may turn into "Weekend Updates" and not "Friday Updates" if my lazy ass keeps trying to sleep in on Friday mornings =P. 
> 
> Things are starting to come to a head for Duo! This chapter gives us some insight to Trowa's past (and part of what makes him both drawn to and cautious of Duo), reintroduces an old friend (!!), and reveals some true colors. It's a wild ride, y'all.
> 
> Many Many thanks to [chronicwhimsy](chronicwhimsy.tumblr.com), known on this site as [GoodIdeaAtTheTime](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodIdeaAtTheTime/profile). Check out her excellent 2x5 Salvage [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8175788)!
> 
> Also many, many thanks to those of you who've stuck with this fic, who've left comments and reviews and kudos. It helps keep me going. You are deeply, deeply appreciated.

**** Breakfast the next morning was quiet, like nothing had happened. Duo showered while Trowa cleaned up, then left to go to the tea shop. He had a shift, but more than that, he needed to see Madame Long. He needed the comfort she could provide. Wearing baggy jeans and a worn sweater, he slipped into the silent store with his leather jacket pulled close, hair in a tight braid. Madame Long looked up as soon as he entered, the smile on her face falling when she saw his hunched shoulders. Duo didn’t look at her. He didn’t greet her. Instead, he walked directly to her and put his arms around her, pressing his face to her neck. 

Duo took a deep, shuddering breath. He remembered the taste of Trowa on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on his skin, fingers in his hair. The way he breathed soft, husky Russian in his ear, the wine heavy in their blood. But Duo had still woken up alone, hungover and heartbroken. Breaking up with Eric was no longer just an option, it was a certainty. Duo couldn’t date him when he was already so hopelessly lost over Trowa. Even if Trowa still wasn’t his. The thought broke him. Duo’s breath hitched, and he clutched at Madam Long, crying softly against her neck, his fingers clutching the soft fabric of her dress.

“ _ Mama,”  _ Duo sobbed, grateful when he felt her arms around him. “Why doesn’t he want me,  _ mama?”  _

She pressed his head against her shoulder, rubbing at his back soothingly. 

“Oh, child,” she murmured, “he does want you. He does, he’s just a stubborn boy much like you are.” She pulled back, cupping his face with her wrinkled hands, dark brown eyes shining with affection and love. “You are beautiful, and he is scared. But he does love you. His heart beats strongly for you. He is a stubborn fool. You know how he can be. A great man, but an idiot!” she laughed softly. “But my child, he does want you. So very much.”

Duo sniffled, looking mournfully at her. He wanted to believe what she was saying. On some level, he knew it was true. But it was so at odds with everything Trowa had shown him. Duo gnawed on his lip, then sighed, leaning back in to her and taking what comfort he could from the feeling of her arms around him. He couldn’t remember his own mother, dead before he’d turned five. But he remembered Solo. He remembered being held like this, comforted by someone he loved. 

Opening his mouth to speak, he was cut off as the door to the tea shop opened. Duo felt Madame Long stiffen against him, and he tensed. Ready to fight, even with tears coursing down his cheeks. He turned, growling already, every muscle in his body ready to right. And then he froze, eyes widening, mouth dropping open. The man was someone he’d known what felt like a lifetime ago. staring back at him looking just as shocked--Wufei. 

“Duo?” Wufei stared at him, shock plain on his features. “I thought you were dead.” 

“I am,” Duo answered, carefully inserting himself between the federal agent and the tiny old woman. His eyes narrowed. “Very dead.” 

“You--” 

“No,” Duo crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Wufei. “You know, technically I don’t even exist. Not on paper. Zechs--” he sighed, deflating suddenly. “Can we just not? You didn’t see me.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Duo,” Agent Chang stepped forward, his reasons for coming to the shop completely forgotten. “By Law--” 

“Get in here and close that door!” Madame Long snapped, easily sliding into Mandarin as she glared down at Wufei “I will not have the whole world hearing this. You,” she gestured to Wufei, “go sit down. You,” she pointed at Duo, “go make tea.”

She bustled around Duo, pointing to a chair and giving Wufei a firm look. Duo calmed immediately, ducking his shoulders and giving her a shamefaced look. 

“Yes,  _ mama,” _ Duo kissed her cheek quickly, then made his way behind the counter. He began brewing a new mix, green jasmine and peach, carefully avoiding Wufei’s eyes. The agent’s eyes had widened at Duo’s immediate compliance, nearly popping out of his head at the soft, firm Mandarin that followed. 

“You do not come into my shop and cause trouble, understood? While you are in  _ my _ house, you will obey  _ my  _ rules. You will have tea, and we will talk about what you did and did not see,” Madame Long was furious. Duo didn’t think he had ever seen her like this. 

“My apologies,” Wufei said finally, looking up as Duo brought him a fresh pot of tea, offering him a small smile. “I should not have spoken that way to you. It’s clear this shop is a place of safety for you.” Duo nodded, saying nothing, the fear on his face disappearing in an instance. It seemed to be the sign Madame Long was waiting for. She swept down on Wufei, scooping his face up with both hands and pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks, giving him a warm smile. Duo’s watched, flabbergasted.

“It is good to see you again. You should come more often, I will make you tea. I understand you know my Duo?” she asked, glancing back at him. Duo did his best to look busy, preparing the tea with one ear fixed on their conversation. “He is a good boy. He is doing very well now. Don’t go making him hurt, young man, or I will not hesitate to tan your hide.”

Duo watched them carefully, keeping the amusement at her Americanized phrasing off his face. He didn’t want to find himself on the other side of the old woman’s anger. They seemed to know each other, speaking with an easy familiarity and Duo felt the last of his tension release. Madame Long, he knew, would straighten things out. Wufei looked like he had already caved, nodding and looking at the old woman with a chastised expression. He didn’t think that things were over. Not by a longshot. But this, he figured, was good enough. At least he knew that Wufei wouldn’t go back to Zechs. 

That would be a disaster. Eventually, Duo knew that Zechs and Winner would realize he was alive. They weren’t stupid, and while Duo was hiding, the more jobs he took for Trowa, the clearer it would be to others that Shinigami still walked. But he wanted to have control of that reveal. He wanted to wait until he was more settled, more certain of his safety. More than anything, he didn’t want to worry about Zechs trying to take him away from Trowa. 

Wufei left after only an hour, leaving him alone with Madame Long. The old woman patted his arm, then went to the back of the store, leaving him to manage alone with a comment about her “lazy son in law.” It wasn’t busy, but there was a steady stream of customers. It kept him distracted for most of the day, and Duo grateful. He appreciated being distracted. Deliciously tired, he trudged home through the cold evening, looking bemusedly up at the dark clouds. It would snow soon, blanketing the streets in soft white. Duo liked winter. He liked the cold. But he didn’t know that he’d like being alone. Trudging up the stairs to his apartment, Duo sighed. Trowa, he thought, was still out of reach. He unlocked the apartment door with a frown on his face, head bowed. 

“Hey, little demon!” a voice called out, “I think we gotta talk about some shit. Want a drink? I brought scotch. Good shit, probably older than Madame Long!” 

Duo’s hand dipped into his pocket at the voice, fingers wrapping around the hilt of a knife. He paused as he recognized the man on his couch. Howie. Duo relaxed, rolling his eyes and loosening his grip. Crossing the room with a smile on his face, Duo kicked his boots off and shrugged  his jacket over his shoulders, tossing it onto a chair.  

“Hey,” Duo drawled. “Do any of you have any sense of privacy? I know I locked that door this morning.” It was amused, Duo’s violet eyes sparkling. He liked Howie. The man was incorrigible, old and fiesty. A perfect match for Madame Long. If her husband ever died, Duo knew he’d work endlessly to set them up. 

“In my line of work? Privacy is a myth.” Howard’s grin was shameless, and Duo snorted. Holding out a hand, he gave Howie an expectant look. 

“Gimme the scotch. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it, if you’re here to talk about what I think you’re here to talk about.” Howie gave Duo a wink, sliding the opened bottle over and offering an apologetic smile. 

“If you mean, ‘Howard, are you here to talk about that idiot bastard we both know as Trowa?’ then yes, I’m here to talk about what you think I’m here to talk about,” he bit his lip, his hand coming up to scratch at the balding patch on his head. 

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Duo sighed, taking a long drink of the scotch. It burned deliciously, searing him and steeling him against their conversation. 

“Well, Trowa is many things, but he’s not perfect. You’ve figured that out by now. He-- he gets ideas stuck in his head, and then his ingrained stubborn streak latches on and refuses to let go. He’s told me some, but I want to know the whole deal going on before I set my foot down and make a decision whether I need to brain him with a crowbar to make him see reason, or if talking will do.” 

“There’s not much to tell. He doesn’t--he thinks he’s “protecting” me. Tells me I--don’t know what I want, or what decisions I’m making. He thinks I’m just...trading out Zechs for him. They’re not the same!” Duo gave Howie a pleading look. “I know they’re not!”  

“Oh, I know.” Howard agreed, taking a long drag from the bottle. “But that’s not how Trowa sees it. He’s afraid of becoming  _ like _ Zechs, not of you using him as Zechs. There’s a difference there, little devil. The difference is not how you see Trowa, but how Trowa sees himself. It’s what’s going through his thick skull right now.” He sighed, running a hand over the tangles of his beard, giving Duo a long, hard look. “You know what kind of man Zechs Marquise is. You’re getting to know what kind of man Trowa Barton is. What makes them different, in their affections and attention to you?” He took another draw of the bottle, as he waited for Duo’s response. 

“Trowa wants me to have a choice,” Duo said immediately. “He wants me to be able to make my own decisions, to have my own life. I don’t--my world doesn’t revolve around him the way it did with Zechs.” Duo took the bottle back, taking a long drink. His brow furrowed, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Not that Trowa will listen to me when I make a decision. He thinks--he tells me to make my own choices and then--ignores me when I say I want him!” Duo flushed and looked down. He’d never anticipated talking to Howie, of all people, about his problems with Trowa. 

“He’s a hypocrite,” Duo growled out fnally. “He tells me that it’s my choice, my decision. But I’ve made my decision! It’s like--It’s like, am I not good enough? Does he not trust me? Is it--is it just that he doesn’t really want me and doesn’t know how to tell me? I’ve--I thought I was clear with what I wanted. But he won’t accept it. I don’t,” he slumped again, shaking his head. Running a hand over his face, Duo sighed heavily. “I don’t know how to convince him that I know what I want when he won’t listen.”  

“You’re right,” Howie agreed. “He’s being a dumb shit. You ain’t wrong, kid. I’ve been tellin’ him, you know what you want. But his problem-- it runs deeper than hypocrisy. He does want you to make your own choices, but he’s too afraid to accept them.”He grabbed the bottle, taking several swallows before slamming it down on the table, swiping his mouth with the back of his arm, before letting out a long sigh. “What I’m gonna tell you-- You’ll have to understand; I’m not making excuses for Trowa. He’s not being fair to you, an’ you’re right to be pissed about it, to be hurt. But I want you to think too with how you’re tellin’ him. An’ he might be hearing you wrong. He’s like that. He gets stuck in his head, and he stops hearin’ the truth.” Duo stilled, listening to Howard in rapt attention.

“Tro, he’s a bit… broke. Inside. He was like you at one point, thought that his entire world revolved around a man who wasn’t what he seemed, had trapped him into a fucked up relationship where all he was being was  _ used _ . And… he didn’t realize it for years.” He grimaced, his eyes darkening. “He didn’t-- he didn’t even try to break free, like you’re doing right now, until years later. At fifteen, he killed his owner, and became the man you know now.” He let out a soft huff, alcohol heavy on his breath. “He’s trying to help you in the same way he helped himself. But… you ain’t him, kid. He needs to see that. That’s what you gotta help him see. He sees himself when he sees you, and he doesn’t want that for you. But it doesn’t make him right.” 

“No,” Duo spoke softly. “I’m not him.” His mind was racing. Trowa had been where he was. Trowa had been exactly where he was, and he’d broken free with much more violence. It explained many things about the man. How he always seemed to know what to say, the tenderness with which he touched him. Duo worried his lower lip with his teeth, staring at the table. Trowa was pushing him away--but he was pushing him away on to other people. It wasn’t that Trowa didn’t want to be like Zechs--Trowa didn’t want to be like the nameless man who had ruled him, years before.  

“That idiot,” Duo growled, clenching his teeth. He stood. “That--” he snarled, hands fisting at his sides as he paced the apartment. And then he whirled, looking at Howie with fury etched in the lines of his face. “Where is he, Howie? You tell me right now.”  

“Don’t know, kiddo,” he said honestly. “He’s switched hidey-holes again. He wasn’t too happy with me butting my overly large nose into his personal affairs and went to ground after I left. Figured while I waited for him to stop throwing his hissy fit, I’d come and get your side of things.” He finished off the scotch, letting out a content sigh as he set the now-empty bottle down. 

“Don’t let yourself think that you’re wrong. Trowa is being dick, but you gotta give it to him just as good. Tell him straight, tell him you get what he’s thinking, but that  _ you are not him _ . He’s not gonna listen to a fuckin’ thing I say, but he damn near falls over himself tryin’ to please you. And if it’s  _ him _ that’s gonna make you happy, you fucking tell him that. Hear me? Don’t let him push you away, not without leavin’ some claw marks on his hand.” 

“I’m gonna leave something on him,” Duo spat, snarling to himself.

Howard pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly before righting himself. “Well, I dawdled long enough. The good Madame Long promised me a hot meal if I fixed her phone again, and I’m not wastin’ an opportunity to eat her cookin’. You do what you gotta do, little devil. Things’ll work out.” He let himself out, the laptop tucked back away into his bag and his footsteps unsteady as he made his way down the stairs.

Duo watched Howie go with flat eyes, then took a deep breath. He was angry. He was furious. Briefly, he debated hunting Trowa down. Duo dismissed the thought almost immediately. There were too many safehouses in Chicago, and he didn’t know where they all were. He’d be searching for hours if he left, and Duo didn’t have that kind of time. Running a hand over his face, Duo kicked the corner of his coffee table, then stalked to his bathroom, stripping as he went. He was going to shower and change. And then--he needed to text Eric.  

It wasn’t fair to keep stringing the man along, not when he was kissing Trowa. Duo stepped into shower and let the steam wash over him, his body relaxing in the heat. Tipping his head back into the spray, he sighed. Hopefully, Eric would understand. They’d never really talked too much about expectations. Most of their relationship had been spent in bed. The man was nice, and kind, and Duo liked him--but he wasn’t Trowa. And as long as Duo wanted Trowa, as long as Duo was determined to  _ have  _ Trowa, he had no business being involved with anyone else.  

Stepping out of the shower, Duo wrapped his hair in a towel, tugging on a thick terrycloth robe. He padded through the apartment to his bag, shivering a little in the cold. There was snow falling, like he’d predicted, and Duo spent a few minutes looking out the window, drying his hair and watching it settle silently on the city streets. Turning away with a sigh, he took his phone to his bedroom, tossing his towel in the hamper and stripping off the robe as he made his way to his closet. It was time to stop stalling. 

**Can we talk?**

* * *

**Now you listen here, you little whore. I know exactly who you are, Shinigami. I know who you are, and I know who you used to work for. If you don’t keep bending over whenever I say, I’m going see to it that Zechs gets a couple of those lovely pictures you sent me. Along with your address. I’m sure he’d love the chance to punish a bad boy like you.**

Duo stared at the phone in shock, fear clutching at his heart. The last message from Eric was still on the screen, paralyzing him, rooting him in place. How had he been so stupid? How could he have been so blind? And now--Eric had everything he needed to follow through on his threat. He knew where Duo lived, knew where Duo worked. He knew everything about him. Swallowing hard, Duo closed his eyes.  

He could kill Eric. Hunt him down and make sure he never released any of the information he had. But it was too close to home. Too close to Zechs. The man would know it had been him, and Eric was smart. He was smart enough that any lack of communication on his part would lead right to Duo’s doorstep. The police were out of the question, too. This was all his fault. He’d been stupid, and blind, and now--he wasn’t going to be able to be with Trowa. Even if he could figure out what to say. Duo took a shaky breath, looking down at the new text on his phone. 

**You’re coming over for dinner. Wearing something nice. I’m inviting friends, and you will be on your best behavior. Imagine what Madame Long would think if she saw what her precious boy let men do to him?**

Duo stared at his phone, tears pricking his eyes, then took a shuddering breath. **I’ll be there in an hour.**


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Day! As always, I have to give many, many thanks to chronicwhimsy for being such an excellent and attentive beta! Thank you for helping to keep me on track. I'd also like to extend some thanks to everyone who comments and leaves kudos, with a special shoutout to Clara for being such a wonderfully supportive friend <3\. 
> 
> Casual reminder that this is a fairly dark fic, and that Duo is an assassin. Please heed the warnings on the fic, and absolutely let me know if you feel that additional ones need to be added. 
> 
> In this Chapter, Duo is finally 100% done with Trowa's shit.

**** Duo took one last look in the mirror. He looked good, he thought, hair curled and gathered at the back of his head. There were tendrils curling around his face, tumbling down the side of his pale neck. Enchanting and enticing. He wore tight, slim black jeans and an amethyst silk shirt, the color setting off his eyes and hair. Leaning in, he carefully smudged the liner around his eye with his finger, making the corners just a hint smoky. And then he washed his hands. Stepping away from the mirror, he tugged on his boots and heading for the door. His phone and wallet were in his pocket, but he felt bare. No knives, not unless he wanted Eric to retaliate. Duo didn’t want a fight.   

Pulling his coat on, he shoved his hands the pockets, trudging down the street with slumped shoulders. He wanted this to be over. Eric wasn’t going to share him--he knew that much. The man was too possessive. But he wasn’t looking forward to dinner. To the way the eyes would be on him. To being reduced to a doll. A pretty object set next to a man to make him look better. Trapped again.   

“Duo,” the voice made him jump and look up. It was Mr. Long. Duo gave him a wavering smile in greeting, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Taking his arm, Mr. Long tugged him towards the shop. “ _ Mama needs you.” _

It was all he needed to say. Duo tapped a quick text to Eric and followed after Mr. Long, too worried to ask any questions.   

Duo entered the store on Mr. Long’s heels, eyes narrowed in concern. He could hear angry voices coming from the back. It sounded like Trowa, and Duo’s heart jumped into his throat. He didn’t know if he was ready to see him yet. If he could handle seeing him, now that he was permanently out of reach. Duo bit his lip, walking silently towards the backroom. Mr. Long was not behind him. He was at the counter, watching Duo with unfathomable eyes. Pausing at the door, Duo rested his hand on it, listening intently, pulse pounding in his ears.  

The conversation was between Trowa and Madame Long, and it confirmed a lot of what Howie had told him earlier. Trowa didn’t think he was good enough, was afraid of tainting Duo, somehow. The idea was laughable. Of course Trowa was good enough. Trowa was more than good enough, because Trowa was what he wanted. Duo took a deep breath, shoving the thoughts away. Right now, Madame Long needed him. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, brows dawn in worry, the sound of a slap echoing in the room. Trowa stood in the middle, holding his cheek, eyes brimming with moisture as he said softly, “ _ Yes, mama. _ ”  

“ _ Mama?”  _ Duo asked, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Are you okay?” He avoided looking at Trowa. He wanted to. He wanted to run to him, throw his arms around his neck and kiss him and punch him in the mouth for being such an idiot. He didn’t. Eric had been clear, and until Duo dealt with that, he needed to keep his hands to himself. A ripple of anger went through him. How long, he wondered. How long was he going to be subjected to the whims of others?   

“Do--Mr. Long said you needed me,” finally, Duo looked at Trowa. It was impossible to hide how he felt, the warm look of longing in his eyes. Swallowing, Duo tore his eyes away from him, focusing on Madame Long. “Everything’s okay?”   

Madame Long stepped up to Duo, hugging him and pinching each of his cheeks fondly.  

"I am fine. But you two are going to worry me into my grave!" She patted his cheek, taking his arm and leading him to the door of the cellar. "But you and Trowa have some business to take care of."  

Duo blinked, then followed after her to Trowa, his brow furrowing. She was fine. He was alone with Trowa, standing in front of the cellar doors. This, then, was why Mr. Long had come for him. Not for her, but for Trowa. Duo snorted a little. It was clever. He would never have come for just Trowa, not after the text for Eric. 

“I have a gift for you. If you so wish. Come, it won't take long," Trowa offered his hand. 

“I--” he paused, gnawing on his lower lip. Trowa had a gift. A gift in the cellar. Last time it had meant torture, meant using the skills he’d honed to draw information out of his would be killer. Duo took a deep breath, meeting Trowa’s gaze, expression perfectly neutral. He didn’t want Trowa to know about Eric. To know just how badly he’d fucked up. “I can’t. I have--dinner plans. I have to go.”   

He turned, heading to the doors, reaching for his phone, hoping the lack of reply from Eric didn’t mean the man was coming after him.  

"Eric has had... a change of plans. You'll have to forgive me for ruining dinner. I'll cook for you in apology," Trowa’s voice was cool and even, accent twisting around his voice."I find myself needing to take out the trash, but I felt you would prefer to do the honors. He, after all, was the one who tried to do the same to you."  

Duos eyes narrowed. A change of plans. Trowa had meddled. That’s what it meant. And now, Trowa wanted to kill Thomas. Was offering to let Duo do it, since the man had tried to kill him, so long ago. Had he been kept down here this whole time? A slow, sultry grin spread over Duo’s face, his eyes hooding. A gift, indeed.   

“You and I,” Duo purred. “Are going to have a nice chat later,  _ Trowa. _ ” He stepped up next to him, arms crossing over his chest. “But I want your gift. Do I have time to run home and change? I don’t have any knives on me.”   

Trowa shook his head, pulling a thin, long blade from its holster at his waist, flipping it in his hand and offering the handle to Duo, fingers lightly touching the polished metal.  

"I have had this knife for many, many years, a gift from the original Catherine Bloom. I used it to take the life of the original Trowa Barton, before  I took his name. I made my first kill of my own free will with this knife, and I offer it to you, to cut the first tie of your past."  

Duo took the knife with gentle fingers, gaze softening as he looked at Trowa. It was still dark, his eyes still narrowed under hooded lids. He recognized the gesture for what it was: an apology. Duo arched up to kiss Trowa’s cheek, then set the knife down, stripping off his silk shirt. He folded it carefully, leaving it on the desk, then pulled his hair up. He left it in a bun, a few wisps escaping to tease against his neck. It was chilly in the room, his nipples hardening, the thin silver rings glinting in the room, a shiver going through him. 

“Let’s go,” Duo smirked, picking the knife back up and flipping it in his hand. Winking at Trowa, he brushed past him, fingers trailing along his stomach. “I’d hate to keep him waiting.” He opened one of the cellar doors, slinking down the steps. 

“Thomas,” he crooned, flipping his knife, “Have you been naughty, Thomas? Or are you still my good boy?” 

The man had seen much better days, the days spent captive in the dungeon having sucked away his health, strength, and color. There was a bed in one corner, unmade and musty, and it answered Duo’s earlier question: Thomas had been held here for months, kept alive for information. And now he didn’t have any more to give. They had a new target, someone else they could pump for information, and it was time for Thomas to die. He was already half-dead, a foot in the grave and only Shinigami's merciful blade would push him all the way in. Duo prowled through the cellar, lips curving as Thomas began to whimper. The man remembered him. Not that it was a surprise. Already, he was tugging at his bindings, trying to get away, and Duo was tempted to make it quick. To be merciful death. His eyes darted to Trowa, the grim line of his body as he watched. There was no way in Hell he was going to be nice. 

“Oh, Thomas,” Duo hummed, tapping the man on the cheek with his knife. “What am I going to do with you?” The man sobbed, and Duo laughed, soft and cruel. He ran his fingers through Thomas’ greasy hair, then down his cheek. “Do you want to die?” 

“Yes,” Thomas choked out, looking at Duo with dull, dead eyes. Tilting his head, Duo tapped his chin with the knife as he thought, then turned to look over his shoulder at Trowa, his dark eyes glittering. 

“What do you think? Should I let him die?” 

"He is yours," Trowa said it softly,  his voice filling the room, echoing off stone cellar walls. "So do you want to make it easy for him, give him the relief of a quick death? A reward for saving your life and freeing you from those who would clutch you to them? Or do you want to watch the light leave him, slowly drawing out every agonizing minute, watch him suffer for putting you through hell? You are the God of Death. What will you choose?"

Duo gave Trowa a long, hard look. He weighed his options, then turned, looking Thomas in the eyes as he stroked the blade along his jaw. 

“The Broker wants me to choose,” Duo told him, speaking just loud enough for Trowa to hear. “He’s always giving me choices, Thomas.”  He wondered if Trowa had done it on purpose. Used those words. Trowa wanted him to choose but Trowa didn’t respect his choices when he did. Thomas, Duo knew, had already made his. He’d chosen to die. 

“I’ll honor your choice,” Duo whispered, drawing the knife in a deliberate line across his throat. He stood there silently, watching the life leave Thomas’ eyes. It settled something in him. Duo felt a peace wash over him, and then he turned, stalking towards Trowa, violet eyes sparking in muted rage. 

“You,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You trust me to make a choice about killing a man but not about who I want?”

“I trust that you know what you want,” Trowa said softly, not moving a muscle, his hands behind his back. “But I do not trust myself to be what you need.” He looked at the young assassin, eyes as cool as his words. “If I let myself have you the way you keep asking, what will stop you from wanting me to make all the choices in our relationship? From you submitting to me to prevent a fight, or because you think it it what will make me happy? Will you sacrifice yourself for my sake if I were to make you upset? Would you give up everything you’ve gained to become a bedwarmer again?  Would you let yourself revert to being a kept pet again? What if that was the man I became? I will not be a replacement for Zechs Merquise.”

"I am so sick," Duo growled out, "of you acting like this about me. This has nothing to do with me! I know what I want, and I want you! You tell me you'll respect my decision, that whatever I choose is okay, and then immediately tell me that I need space. That I need time to figure out what I  _ really  _ want." He put his hands on his hips, hurt and furious, eyes deadly as he raked them over Trowa. 

"I want you. I've wanted you since the moment you stepped out of the shadows to talk to me," Duo slunk forward, pressing in to Trowa and slipping the knife back into his pocket, a return of his gift. "I've made it as clear as I can." Stepping back, Duo spread his arms open, looking at Trowa with a challenge in his eyes, body tensed and ready to fight. 

"I've made my decision, over and over again. Are you going to keep throwing it in my face? Are you going to keep acting like I don't know the risks? I'm not you, Trowa. I don't want to be alone," he lifted his chin, nostrils flaring as he stared him down. This was not a fight he was backing down from. Not tonight. Not anymore. Crossing his arms over his chest, gaze boring into Trowa's, Duo straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. "If you're going to tell me no again, you'd better be telling me no because you don't want me. Not because you think you know what's best. This is my choice, Trowa. Not yours. You don't get to tell me what I need."

For a moment there was nothing. No air, no movement, just the two of them, gazes locked. And then Trowa reached out, his hand sliding around Duo’s neck as he pulled him close, mouth closing fiercely over his. His other hand came to wrap around Duo’s waist, pulling their bodies flush. “I want you. I want you so much.”

Duo met him head on, fisting his hands in his hair and pressing firmly against him. Trowa’s hands were on him, at the back of his neck, around his waist, and Duo felt hope flare within him. Trowa wasn’t pushing him away. He was pulling him close, half-hard against his hip. Panting harshly, Duo growled as Trowa broke the kiss, expecting to be pushed away. 

“So  _ take  _ me,” Duo snarled in response, surging up to meet Trowa’s next kiss. He moaned into it, nails scraping over his scalp as Trowa’s teeth grazed his skin. Trowa wasn’t resisting, was giving in, and Duo slid his hands down to clutch at his shirt. He wanted to climb him. To wrap his legs and his arms around Trowa and grind against him until they were both coming. He wanted Trowa to pin him to the wall and fuck him. Duo’s teeth closed around Trowa’s lower lip, and he tugged, turning them and leaning back against the wall, yanking Trowa forward. “Now. Want you.” 

Duo wrapped his legs right around Trowa, rubbing himself against him and tipping his head back against the wall. He was breathless, moaning as Trowa’s mouth moved down his neck, his hips grinding against him. His cock was aching in his pants, hips rocking against Trowa’s, a broken keen leaving his lips. How long had he wanted this? How many months had he dreamed about that voice, that touch? Duo clutched at Trowa’s shoulders and arched against the wall, needing more. 

“Trowa,” Duo whined, panting hard. His cheeks were flushed, hair coming out of its bun as he ground into Trowa’s hand. Licking his swollen lips, he slid his hands up Trowa’s shirt, mapping the skin there. It was soft, firm, and Duo’s hands ran over it greedily, possessively, wanting to touch every inch of him. He leaned in, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to Trowa’s jaw. Trowa groaned softly as Duo's hands touched him. 

“Take me here. Just-turn me around, fuck me against the wall,  _ please, _ I need you so bad. Don’t make me wait anymore, please,” it was a mumbled, desperate stream, Duo’s fingers brushing over Trowa’s nipples. “Please, Trowa.” Trowa pulled back enough to see his face, a hand coming to cup his cheek while the other one kept squeezing Duo's cock through his pants.

" _ I do not have _ \-- I do not have anything to prepare you," he said, "as much as I want to. I will take good care of you, Duo. I am not going to hurt you. We have... next time. Again." His English was thick, his accent strong as he explained. He gave Duo a rough squeeze, kneading the stiff length.  "I won't make you hurt. You are worth more than a quick fuck."

Duo whined. He turned in to Trowa’s hand, kissing and nuzzling his palm, hips rocking steadily against the teasing pressure. Trowa was right. Duo didn’t want to admit it, vision fogged by lust. Want crowded his brain, and he gave a soft snarl as Trowa spoke, undulating needily against him, shifting his weight to rub himself against Trowa’s cock. Tipping his head back against the wall, he rolled his body suggestively, watching him through hooded eyes as his body arched, grinding against Trowa’s cock.

“Then take me home,” Duo demanded, eyes hooded and dark. “I don’t wanna come without you in me.”  Trowa hummed in response, a flash of hunger in his gaze as he carefully lowered him to his feet, a hand on each hip to make sure his legs were steady before letting him go.

"As you wish, little demon. I'm yours all evening."

The trip up the stairs was a blur. Duo followed Trowa as close as he could, desperate to feel his hands again, the sharp consuming fire of his mouth. Trowa was his, for the whole night. Duo felt a surge of exultation, rising up on his toes and giving the Russian a biting kiss, palming his cock as he slid into the car. Smirking, he buckled in, violet eyes glittering with hunger as his ability to speak suddenly returned.

“Good,” he teased. “Because I’m gonna  _ take  _ all evening.” Trowa wouldn’t be the first, but he would be the last. Duo didn’t want anyone else in his bed, didn’t think he could ever. There was only Trowa, just Trowa, and Duo rubbed the front of his pants, hips giving a teasing buck as he let his head fall back against the car seat. “Come on, Trowa. Get in.” 

"Patience, godling," Trowa chided, gaze teasing as he slid in. 

“It’s hard to be patient when I’ve wanted you for so long,” Duo pouted a little. He bit his lip, casting a look at Trowa, butterflies racing through his stomach. Duo ran his hand nervously up the inside of his thigh, legs spreading unconsciously. 

"Do you have slicking gel? Do you have that? If not, I will stop at a store." 

“I’ve got lube. Had it since I moved in, just in case. I used to lie in bed at night and dream about what it’d feel like to have your hands on me. What it’d be like to be spread out for you.” The look he shot Trowa was oddly shy, lip caught between his teeth. He’d been wanting this for so long, absolutely aching for it. Duo chuckled nervously, looking out the window, cheeks flushing. “God, just kissing you winds me up. There’ve been so many times I’ve wished you’d just--take me. I wanna be with you so bad, Tro.” 

He was rambling, and he knew it. It was something he did when he was nervous, or unsure. Trowa wanted him and he wanted Trowa and he was finally going to get what he wanted--but part of him was still worried it wouldn’t happen. That Trowa would back down, tell him no and turn him out of his bed. That Trowa would wake up tomorrow and tell Duo he was leaving again. 

Trowa was nodding, listening to Duo's chatter as he parked the car at Duo's apartment and shut the engine off. He turned in his seat, reaching out to pull Duo into a kiss, a large hand cupping his cheek.

"Let's go inside, da?" He pulled his hand away, fingers caressing Duo's cheek as he did. Duo leaned in to the touch, nodding. He took Trowa’s hand in his own after they climbed out, linking their fingers and tugging him up the stairs. The desperate fire that had been lit by killing Thomas had cooled, leaving Duo nervous and unsure. Trowa wanted him. They were going to his apartment, getting into his bed, and Duo wanted it. Wanted it more than he’d ever thought he could want anything. 


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Thank all of you for not demanding my head on a pike after the cliffhanger from last week. I won't promise not to do it again, but I will promise a wait of no longer than a week when I do =P. As always, many thanks to chronicwhimsy for her excellent beta--you're input is indescribably valuable. I'd also like to take a moment to thank claraxbarton, who has always been and remains both an inspiration and an amazing source of support. 
> 
> This is exactly what you think it is: 3k of smut.

At the door, Duo pulled Trowa in, sliding his fingers into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss, tongue brushing over his lower lip. He hummed into it, wrapping his other arm around Trowa’s waist, hand sliding up his shirt to stroke his lower back. The touch sent electricity racing up his spine, and he pulled away panting, eyes hooded, the heady taste of Trowa still on his tongue. Turning, he opened the door, pulling Trowa in and shutting it firmly behind him. The Russian paused, the skin around his eyes tightening as he looked around, then back at him. Taking a deep breath, Duo’s mind raced, searching for a way to put his lover-to-be at ease. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asked, leaning back against the door, looking up at the Russian through his eyelashes, lips swollen from kissing. He wanted to take Trowa to bed. To haul him to his bedroom and push him down and ride him until they were both spent. But there was nervousness in the air, a heaviness Duo couldn’t ignore. This was more than sex, and Duo felt the fragility of what was growing between them. How easily it would shatter like glass. “I want--can I change for you?” 

Trowa reached out, sliding his fingers across Duo's cheek again. "How about," he said, voice low, "I get us drinks, and you can wear whatever makes you comfortable." He gave a reassuring smile. "Do not do anything you do not wish to do. I will be happy no matter what." 

“I know,” he said, running his fingers over Trowa’s wrist. “But I like dressing up...and I want to dress up for you." Trowa stroked Duo's skin with his thumb. Pressing Trowa’s fingers more firmly against his cheek, Duo nodded, smiling a little, the nervousness in his stomach easing, even as the rapid pulse of his heart continued. Pressing a quick kiss to Trowa’s palm, he pulled away, smile turning impish. 

"I’ll be right back.” Duo winked at him, then slipped away, shutting the door to his bedroom quietly. He moved quickly, stripping off his clothes and running a brush through his hair. Quickly doing it up in the stone chopsticks Trowa had bought him, he made his way to the chest of drawers in his closet. All of his lingerie was there, and Duo riffled through it, pulling out a purple garter belt with matching stockings. Tugging on the silk stockings and clipping them into place, he pulled on the nightie he’d picked out, soft and satin, the color matching his stockings. He looked his appearance over in the mirror on his closet door, then shrugged on his black dressing gown, leaving it open and heading back to the living room. 

The outfit was for himself as much as it was for Trowa. A reminder that he could wear what he wanted, look how he wanted. But he wanted Trowa to like it. He wanted Trowa to look at him and  _ want _ . With a smile playing around his lips, he shut the bedroom door, leaning against it and seeking Trowa with his eyes. His gaze was already riveted to him, wetting his lips as that hot green gaze traveled over his legs. 

“You look beautiful,” Trowa said, voice husky. 

“Thank you,” Duo purred, making his way towards the couch.  He paused, arching up to kiss Trowa’s cheek, then slid into his seat, smiling at him. Taking a sip of his wine,  Duo waited for Trowa to sit, trying to focus on something other than the way Trowa was looking at him, like he wanted to devour him and run all at once. He sat slowly, keeping a careful distance between them. 

“You okay? You seem--nervous? Are you...okay?”  _ Are you having second thoughts _ , he almost asked, tension running through him, straightening his shoulders. Duo bit his lower lip. “Do you want--more wine?” Trowa’s nervousness was making him nervous. The fact that Trowa could be nervous, that he seemed so unsure. Fear knotted his stomach. Fear that Trowa would change his mind, that he would walk away. Duo reached for his wine glass, lowering his eyes, pulse jumping at his throat. 

“I am okay, little demon,” he said, his eyes darting away to look around the apartment. “It-- It is all very-- It has been a long time since I’ve done something-- done something like this with someone I desire. Do not worry, it will fade.” Relief shot through him. Duo slid across the couch, cupping Trowa’s cheeks, covering his mouth with his own in a tender, close-lipped kiss. Trowa relaxed into Duo’s touch immediately. Smoothing his fingers through his hair, he pulled back, resting their foreheads together. Duo took a deep, shaky breath, playing with the soft strands at the nape of Trowa’s neck 

“We don’t--have to do anything,” Duo murmured, pulling back to look shyly at him. “I want you--God I want you--but if you’re not comfortable--” It was hard to offer. Duo wanted Trowa to be comfortable. Wanted to make sure the man had just as much choice as he’d always offered to Duo. There was no reply. Not verbally. But Trowa leaned forward to press a kiss to Duo’s jaw, trailing them up to Duo’s ear.

“That outfit,” he rasped in Duo’s ear, a hand coming to rest on Duo’s chest, feeling the satin nightgown. “Is driving me crazy. Do you know how beautiful you are, demon of mine?” He rested his forehead against the side of Duo’s head, kissing Duo’s throat lightly. “You are very beautiful.”

Duo shivered, head tipping just a little, fingers curling around the back of Trowa’s neck. He felt too hot, skin too tight. This was new to him. Slow seduction, kissing together on the couch with no hurry to do anything else. He was flushed, body arching mindlessly towards Trowa as he toyed with his clothes. Swallowing hard, he set his wineglass down, carding his fingers through Trowa’s hair as he pressed a kiss to his throat. 

“Trowa,” he breathed, trembling in his arms. Biting his lip, he tugged gently, drawing Trowa into a lazy kiss, tongue sweeping through his mouth. He slid his hand down Trowa’s chest, into his shirt and trailing his fingers over his waist. The skin was soft, warm, and Duo focused on the feeling of it, the way Trowa’s tongue moved against his. When had he ever taken the time to do this before? To savor his lover without rushing to completion. Panting, he pulled back, still stroking Trowa’s skin. 

“You can take the robe off,” he offered, shifting to let it slip off his shoulder, revealing pale skin. “God, it feels so good just touching you. Just kissing you.”

“There’s so much I want to show you. I don’t want a quick fuck, a simple roll in the bedsheets,” he murmured against his lips. “I want to show you pleasure, intimacy, desire. I want to teach you how good it can feel, that it doesn’t always have to be quick,” he slid the robe off, letting it rest on the cushions as he pulled Duo onto his lap, “and messy. Sometimes, it feels good to just do this. To kiss, to touch, to hold. Sex doesn’t have to be the priority. Being close, worshipping your body, that can be the goal. Whatever feels good, whatever feels right.”

He laced his fingers with Duo’s, holding each of his hands as he brought them up between them, pressing a kiss to the knuckles on the left, then the right, never breaking eye contact with Duo. Duo shivered, moaning softly at the light tease of Trowa’s touch. He went when Trowa pulled, looking into his face with open adoration. The tease of their lips made his stomach tighten, his thighs tremble. Settling in Trowa’s lap, he clutched at his fingers, breath catching as he spoke. He felt raw, vulnerable in a way that shocked him to his core. 

“I want, more than anything, for you to be happy.”

“You feel right,” he murmured, biting his lip as his flush spread down his neck, over his chest. Duo could barely breath, barely think, and he pulled his hands free from Trowa’s to plunge them into his hair, kissing him with all the passion he could muster. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He shifted on Trowa’s lap, resting his knees on the couch so he could lean into the kiss, whining softly as he licked into Trowa’s mouth, stroking down his neck, over the muscular slope of his shoulders. It was intense, almost too much. Duo couldn’t swallow, eyes stinging as he pulled to catch his breath, lips still brushing against Trowa’s as he spoke. “You--you feel good.”

“Then do what you wish,” he murmured, bringing his hands up to rest against Duo’s back, cradling him close. He pulled him in for another kiss, nipping at his lip and then soothing it with his tongue, trailing kisses down his jaw and throat, latching onto the tender skin at his collarbone while his fingers felt the fabric, sliding down the satin gown to rest at his hips, fingers digging in as he bit down gently.

Duo moaned, clutching at Trowa's upper arms. He was dizzy with pleasure, drunk on the way he held him. He felt precious, priceless in Trowa's arms, the new sensation clouding his senses. Running his hands down Trowa's arms, he pressing his hands more firmly against his hips, body rocking forward. He pushed Trowa's shirt up, stroking his stomach, his sides. 

"Wait," he panted, pulling away just a little. Just enough to tug the sticks out of his hair, letting the dark mass of it tumble down. "There." Leaning in, he slid his hands back up Trowa's shirt, mapping the hard, muscled line of his stomach as he ran his lips along his jaw. 

Trowa leaned forward as he slid his hands up the satin nightgown. He let the fabric bunch up around his wrists, and when it reached Duo’s chest he pulled back, sliding the fabric the rest of the way off and letting it fall on top of the robe.

“You’re right, it’s all muscle,” he murmured, feeling the planes of Duo’s chest, fingers dipping into the slight curves around each pectoral. Duo shivered, nipples pebbling in the cool air. Trowa's hands traced the lines of his chest, the muscles firming under his touch. 

“No matter how you look, or what you wear, you’re so…  _ beautiful _ ,” he said the last word in his native tongue. “I could look at you forever, and never grow tired of what I see.”

He'd been called beautiful before. It wasn't new. But hearing Trowa say it made Duo's eyes flutter shut, made his hips roll forward on their own. Teasing his fingers over Trowa's skin, he ran his thumbs in lazy circles around his nipples, head tipping back as Trowa's hand moved over the front of his panties. 

"Trowa," he moaned, whole body shuddering forward. Duo bit his lip, thumbs brushing firmly over Trowa's nipples. He pressed his mouth to Trowa's neck, dragged his teeth lightly down the arch of his throat, sucking at the steady throb of his pulse. His skin was on fire, burning under Trowa's hands, and Duo dragged his tongue slowly over the shell of his ear, panting against it.

"God, I love how you touch me. How you  _ look  _ at me. The fact that someone as gorgeous as you wants me..." Duo swallowed hard, resting his forehead against him, lips brushing his ear as he spoke. "You're so incredible, Trowa, just hearing your voice. Watching you move." Duo's hips rocked forward, his hard cock pressing in to Trowa's hand as he panted, teeth tugging teasingly at his ear. Trowa's hand was rubbing at him, teasing the head of his cock, lips brushing along the side of his face. He melted into it, unworried at Trowa's lack of erection. 

“Me?” Trowa shook his head, leaning down to place kisses along the side of Duo’s face. “No, little killer, you are the one who I am in awe of. Watching you work, watching you play, watching you from day to day… it is beautiful. It makes life seem more beautiful."

Caught up in the tenderness of Trowa s words his breath caught, a soft whine escaping his lips as he squirmed on Trowa's lap, thighs splaying open wider. 

"It is hard to remember what happiness looks like, here in Chicago, back in Russia. Everything is cold, grey, dark,  _ ugly _ . But you… you shine against it, lighten everything you touch.”

Duo's mouth was open, a retort ready on his lips. That Trowa was anything less than incredible was wrong. That Trowa saw himself as less than incredible was wrong. But then there were fingers brushing his cock, Trowa's calloused hand working over it, and all he could manage was a choked moan. Duo arched, bucking against his hand and burying his face in Trowa's neck, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his skin. 

"Trowa," Duo ground out, desire rippling through him. "God, Trowa. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" It was rough, already wrecked as Duo thrust into the firm grip Trowa had on him. He pulled his hands out of Trowa's shirt, sliding them into his hair and tugging his head back, closing his teeth around his pulse. Trowa let out a harsh breath at the bite on his throat, his hand tightening and speeding up over Duo’s cock. 

Duo was lost as soon as Trowa started to speak. It was the accent, the husky timbre of his voice. Heat could in Duo's groin, hips thrusting hard and fast against Trowa's hand. He dragged his mouth over Trowa's pulse, closed his teeth around the ridge of his collarbone, nails scraping over his scalp. Trowa wasn't hard, and Duo would've been worried if he weren't so obviously aroused otherwise. His thighs were tensing, back bowing as he moaned, coming undone and spilling into Trowa's hand with his mouth pressed to his shoulder, teeth against his skin. Trowa pressed a kiss beside Duo’s ear, twisting his hand and rubbing his thumb along the head of his cock.

Trowa stroked Duo through his orgasm, working every last drop out before letting his hand rest on his hip, thumbs stroking skin soothingly as they both caught their breaths. Duo leaned heavily against Trowa, panting and swimming in euphoria. He was flushed, lips swollen, strands of hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. 

“Shall we go to bed, little demon?” he asked, voice rough and raspy. Nodding absently, Duo pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get you cleaned and ready,” he murmured into his hair, heading to the bathroom. 

Trowa kept his forehead against Duo’s hair, pressing kisses along it as well as whispered words of praise in Russian, and his hand came down to mirror the other on his hip, holding him secure as he stood, hands supporting Duo’s weight. Clinging to Trowa as they walked, he pressed soft, needy kisses along his jaw, nuzzling him and stroking the back of his neck.

“You didnt--” he started, teeth grazing his pulse. Trowa hadn’t come. At the time, it hadn’t mattered, but now... he was concerned. Trowa sighed. 

“If… if you don’t mind, I can stay tonight. I have nowhere to be.” 

Duo stiffened, drawing back to bare his teeth at Trowa, growling warningly. 

"If you think," he started, glaring at him, "that I'm letting you leave here tonight, you're an idiot." He tightened his legs around Trowa's waist, growling again and then kissing him. It was hard, possessive, Duo's tongue and teeth teasing at Trowa's lips. "You're  _ mine."  _

“Just making sure, little demon,” Trowa murmured, stroking Duo’s hair while he opened the bathroom door with the other. Setting Duo down on the counter, he grabbed a cloth and ran it under the sink, the warm water being used to wipe away the mess that had stuck to skin. He undid the garter belt, sliding it off Duo and carefully laying it out before sliding off Duo’s panties, placing them on top of the garter, before removing the stockings, a kiss to each exposed thigh as he did.

“You looked very beautiful. I hope we didn’t ruin them,” he said, the slight spots of come on the stockings bringing a frown. 

"I have more," Duo laughed, smiling as Trowa cleaned him up. He had an endless supply of stockings, an entire drawer full of the soft, silly things. Pillowing his head on Trowa's shoulder, he linked his arms around his neck, gazing up at him with a fond smile. 

Trowa finished wiping him down, before stepping back to remove his own soiled shirt. His eyes ran over Trowa's body, soaking up the sight of his bared flesh. Trowa picked Duo back up, cradling him bridal-style to his chest as they made their way to Duo’s bedroom. Keeping one arm around the back of his neck, Duo ran his fingers down Trowa's chest, humming softly. 

"You look so good," he murmured, lips brushing his skin. Trowa pulled back the covers, setting Duo down before undoing his pants, sliding them off so that only his briefs remained. Duo wiggled into bed, watching Trowa undress with glowing eyes, lips curved in a smug smile. Trowa was gorgeous, sculpted muscled and tanned skin. And he was all Duo's.

Trowa climbed in beside Duo, pulling him into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead. There had been no answer to his question, but Duo was willing to let it go. It was late, and they were tired. He could ask again, later. When they were both more awake, and Trowa was ready to talk. Wiggling in his arms, Duo clung to him. Pressing a kiss to Trowa's chin, he hummed, fingers stroking over his chest, tracing idly designs down his stomach. 

“Talk to me?” he asked, eyes half-closed and watching Duo’s face.

"I don't know what to talk about," Duo bit his lip, looking through his lashes at Trowa. "I'm just. You're here. You're in my bed. You're not saying no anymore. It's--I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up and you're gonna be gone."

Trowa stroked fingers down Duo’s back, hair catching between his fingers on some passes, which he smoothed out and set aside as he let his fingers dance along Duo’s skin.

“Some mornings, I might be,” he said quietly. “If an emergency comes up, I will have to leave. But I will come back.” He said the words with conviction, with a solid promise Duo could feel rattling in his bones. He hummed, running his fingers over Trowa's skin. It was enough.

“I also-- I have a hard time living in one place. Of staying too long--” he swallowed roughly, looking up at the ceiling as he traced patterns on his back. “It-- it gets to me.”  

“But,” he said, rolling onto his side, drawing Duo up for a slow, lazy kiss.  He returned the kiss eagerly, cupping his jaw as their tongues moved together.“You will always be able to get a hold of me. You can always ask for me to come, and if I’m able to, I will be here. I promise. It is not-- I cannot promise you more than that.”

"That's more than enough," Duo nuzzled into Trowa's neck, hooking a leg over his hip. "I know you're busy...maybe sometimes I can come with you?" 

Trowa hummed, fingers kneading into the muscles of Duo’s shoulder, even as he slid his leg between Duo’s to fit them more comfortably together. “I will be heading to Russia in two weeks, to remain there for three months. Some of that will be between other countries, but for all intents and purposes, the Porch will be in Russia. I would-- I would not be… objecting? If you wanted to join me. It is your choice. I know you are still getting settled here, still adjusting. I do not want you to do more than you’re comfortable with. But… I am not going to tell you no, if you decide you wish to come.”

Duo sat up, looking down at Trowa, eyes wide. Trowa was telling him he could come. Was inviting him to come, if he wanted. His lips curved in a smile, hands sliding in to Trowa's hair as he leaned in, pressing quick, happy kisses over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Beaming down at him, he brushed Trowa's hair back from his face, the violet of his eyes soft in the darkness of the bedroom. 

"I want to come," he said. It was firm, no hint of hesitation in his voice. "I want to follow you everywhere." Duo gave a pleased purr as Trowa drew him down, kissing back happily. 

“Let’s sleep, da? There is much to get ready. I will teach you how to pack and prepare for relocating.” Stroking his fingers through his hair, Duo hummed, then snuggled back against his side. Wrapping his arms around Trowa’s waist, Duo tucked his head against Trowa’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut. He was going. Trowa wanted him to go, to teach him how to pack. Three months was a long time, and he would miss Madame Long. But he would have Trowa, and that was the most important thing. It felt like he’d been chasing Trowa for his whole life. Now that he had him, Duo didn’t want to do anything to lose him. Trowa was his, and Duo was going to follow him no matter where it lead. 


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! It's a little late but here it is! Thanks again to chronicwhimsy for all of her help. She is truly the best beta I could ask for! 
> 
> This is--well. It's not ONLY gratuitous smut, but it's MOSTLY gratuitous smut. We're getting a nice buffer in now before the shit starts to hit the fan ^_~. 
> 
> Thank all of you for your comments and reviews! They are deeply, deeply appreciated, and help keep me motivated to edit. We're not close to the end, but we're getting close to close to the end.

The two weeks leading up to their departure were chaotic, full of phone calls and meetings. Trowa had the Porch to tend to. Howard was working diligently to make sure they didn’t fly blind, collecting information and sorting through it. He had a newbie under his wing now, a young tech woman who could mimic voices with such accuracy it gave Trowa chills. The pair were charged with hiding Eric, and covering his absence until he had time to deal with him--personally. Teaching Duo how to pack two suitcases for an overseas flight was it’s own kind of chaos. 

“You cannot fit all of your lingerie into two bags, Duo,” he said, exasperated. “You could not even if you did not bring anything else.”

Duo’s room looked like a very sheer, sexy bomb had hit it. He stood in the middle, wearing his favorite purple silk robe, hair loose down his back. Lower lip jutting out in a pout, Duo gave Trowa  a sullen look, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger. 

“But Tro,” he wheedled. “I need it.” Duo didn’t want to leave it behind. Trowa knew he was proud of his collection. It was almost as if wearing it defined him on some level, made him feel settled in his skin on days when everything else was rushing around. It was unrealistic to want to bring all of it, and Trowa knew Duo knew that. But he was loathe to admit it, the stubborn streak Trowa loved so much coming to the fore. “Can’t I just...buy clothes once we get there? What if I need to--to--seduce a target?” 

“Oh, little killer,” Trowa murmured, moving forward and stroking his fingers down Duo’s cheek. “You can bring  _ some _ of it. But not all. If you want more, we can go look for more. You can even keep some there, for when we go back. Then we do not have to pack so many, da? But you are right. Most clothes can be bought. It’s why they’re considered  _ replaceable _ items.” The Russian word rolled off his tongue smoothly, and it struck him that Duo would need to learn it, if he was going to survive.

“What is not  _ replaceable  _ comes with you. I stick to two bags because they are easy to carry. Some trips, I do not even need one. Pick your favourites, and finish packing, da?” He pressed a kiss to Duo’s lips, fingers running through his hair tenderly. “We have an early flight. You do not want to miss it because you could not fit all your panties in the bag, now, do you?” He teased lightly, trailing kisses up along Duo’s cheek to his ear, where he nibbled playfully.

“Well,” Duo said mildly, head tipping to the side. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure I stock up on lingerie once we get there.” He turned his head, brushing his lips over Trowa’s cheek. The look he gave him was teasing, lips curving in a silly grin. “Are there any pairs you’d like me to bring?” Duo waggled his eyebrows at his lover. 

“Only the ones where I can stick my fingers inside of you without ever having to pull them off,” Trowa whispered in his ear, hand sliding to cup the round flesh of his ass teasingly, fingers rubbing at the material of Duo’s current panties. “Like the pair you teased me with at the store.”

He slid his hand around to the front, cupping Duo through the fabric, kneading lightly. He’d been getting himself more comfortable with touching Duo, with the  _ thought _ of touching Duo. It was helping his…  _ problem _ , as it were, with being able to do more than use his hands and mouth to draw Duo to completion.  Duo’s only reply was a nod, cheeks flushing darkly as he pressed in to Trowa’s hands. It was plain black silk today, nothing fancy. His cock twitched at Trowa’s touch, whole body leaning into him. Biting his lip, Duo looked up at Trowa through his lashes, rocking against his hand. 

“If you start touching me now,” he breathed, voice low and husky, “I’m never gonna get packed.” With a wicked smirk, he nipped Trowa’s lower lip. “Unless I just buy a completely new wardrobe in Russia…”

“Hmm, you sound so distraught at the thought,” Trow murmured, nipping at his jaw as he slid his hand inside the black silk, stroking Duo’s cock as he drew him out. “Go lay down on the bed, da?”

Duo went to the bed immediately, lying back against the pillows. He wiggled, then  propped one foot up, knee bent. His other leg splayed to the side, leaving him open and vulnerable. It was an enticing pose, one Trowa knew should have been inspiring a very specific reaction. He touched the front of his own pants briefly, but-- nothing. Not even the faintest stirring, which had frustration welling up in his chest again. What would it take? It wasn’t like he couldn’t-- there had been three instances with Duo’s presence that he’d managed to. Several times away - a few just this last week alone! - where he’d come from thoughts of Duo. 

“Did you shower and wash well?” Trowa asked, sliding to his knees in front of the bed, looking up at Duo with lust-blown eyes. His own problem-- it could be figured out later. It was pointless to think about it, because that did nothing to help. 

“Yeah,” Duo answered breathlessly, reaching above himself to curl his fingers around the bars on his headboard, spreading his legs wider. “Not sure how I feel about not being able to touch you,” he teased. 

Trowa smiled, his lips crooked as he looked over Duo appreciatively.

“You’re going to have to come closer, little demon,” he urged. “Lay on your stomach, ass to the edge, okay? I want to taste you.” His voice came out rough, desire coating his accent. 

“Grab the lube--” he had learned the word for it “--before coming, da?” He stroked his hands along Duo’s legs, urging the boy to come closer.

With a soft whimper, Duo flipped onto his stomach, grabbing the lube from the nightstand. He sat up, shrugging out of his robe and then turning back onto his hands and knees, crawling backwards towards Trowa and shooting him a hot look over his shoulder. Carefully settling at the edge, Duo spread his legs open, rising up on his arms to look back at Trowa, back arched sharply. He tossed the lube back, then licked his lips. 

"Like this? Or do you want me on my hands and knees?" His thighs were trembling, body tense in anticipation. 

“Whatever is best for you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Trowa murmured, hands coming up to caress the silk panties before tugging them down, hands groping the exposed flesh of his ass before sliding the panties down further. He brought Duo’s legs together enough to slide them completely off, before sliding in between them and placing kisses along the mounds of flesh, biting gently as he massaged the muscles of his thighs.

“Relax, darling. I have you,” he said quietly, soothing him with kisses and touches. He kneaded the flesh, Duo’s hole vanishing and reappearing with every knead, and soon he leaned down and licked a strip across it, blowing on it after, drawing a moan from Duo, an arch of his hips. 

“Do you want me to touch here?” he asked, voice low and rich. 

"Yes," Duo agreed, reaching back with one hand. His fingers grazed Trowa's hair, legs spreading wider in anticipation. "I want it, Trowa." 

Trowa’s eyes gleamed, and he nipped at Duo’s fingers before leaning forward, licking at the exposed hole slowly, letting his tongue draw across the puckered entrance. He swirled his tongue around it, fingers sliding to grasp handfuls of flesh, kneading them as he breached the opening carefully, aware of how quickly his tongue could become wide. He didn’t want to hurt Duo, keeping the thrusts of his tongue shallow, pausing to kiss and blow cool air on the opening with teasing bursts.

“There’s still time to finish packing,” he teased, before pushing his tongue in deeper, even as his hands fumbled with the bottle of lube, pouring some onto his fingers before he pulled back to press one inside. The finger sank in easily, the muscle already loosened from Trowa’s play, and he pressed kisses near the entrance, where the flesh bulged around his finger, trapping it. Duo was moaning above him, writhing on his tongue and fingers, shuddering with pleasure. His enjoyment was clear, sending dull sparks of pleasure through Trowa’s veins, each arch of his hips heating him further. 

“Don’t,” Duo panted out, fisting the sheets. “Don’t wanna pack.” Trowa chuckled at the desperation in his voice, pushing in a second finger, tongue playing with his opening as he stretched Duo open further.

"Such pretty noises," he said, finally slipping into his native tongue. " _I don't even need to ask, it's not hard to tell you feel good. The way you cry, the way you push back as I fuck you open._ " He pushed his fingers in deeper, palm resting on the curve of his ass as he massaged the inside of his walls. There were two fingers in Duo know, and Trowa thrust his tongue in with it, listening intently to the reactions of the beautiful boy under him. He writhed under Trowa's touch, riding his fingers and crying out, fisting the sheets. 

"Trowa!" Duo shouted, keening and rubbing himself against the sheets of his bed, desperate for friction on his cock. "Holy fuck. Please!" Trowa reached forward, his hand closing around Duo’s and stroking with him, even as he pushed in a third finger along with his tongue. He searched for Duo’s sweet spot, wanting to drive the boy over the edge, wanted to bring him the most pleasure with his release.

It took the sting out of his own body betraying him, to watch Duo’s light up with pleasure. Even if his own was broken, he could still do  _ something _ , something that brought Duo happiness and satisfaction. Watching Duo fall apart under the ministrations of his hand and mouth was beautiful, and though his own body refused to stir, he could feel it in the beat of his heart, the endorphins flooding his body, the content, sated feeling in his chest and stomach when Duo was finished. He felt the little bump that gave away Duo’s prostate, and massaged it with his fingers, rubbing firmly as he helped Duo stroke himself, helped Duo reach the edge.

“Come for me, little killer.”

Duo's body trembled with pleasure, overwhelmed. He keened and shook, riding Trowa's fingers eagerly as he came, orgasm ripping through him. And then he slumped, panting and trembling on the sheets, hair tangled and damp with sweat. He reached back blindly with his other hand, seeking Trowa, needing to have him close as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through him. Trowa crawled up on the bed, wiping his fingers on his pants idly as he rested his head on the pillow, drawing Duo away from the mess on the sheets and against his side, cradling him close and stroking his hair. Duo went willingly into Trowa's arms, nuzzling under his jaw. He sighed contentedly, giving him a sated look and kissing his chin. 

“Okay?” he asked softly, as he did after every time they were together. He wanted to make sure that Duo still felt safe, content, and in control. That he wasn’t overwhelmed, or didn’t like what had happened. He didn’t want to push Duo too far, didn’t want to push past his comfort zone, and he loved the moments after, where he could hold Duo close, could feel him coming down from his post-orgasmic high, and just keep him by his side.

"I'm so good," he purred, reaching up to run his fingers through Trowa's hair. Hooking leg over his hip, he pressed closer, fingers stroking over his scalp. Rubbing his toes against the back of his thigh, Duo gave him a lazy smile. "I'm always good when you touch me." 

“Good,” he murmured, pressing kisses along Duo’s brow, slow and lazy and sleepy. “We’re leaving early, but you’ll be able to sleep on the plane if you become tired. It’s a long flight.” He glanced at the clock. It was almost nine at night, which wouldn’t have been too late if they didn’t need to wake up at three.

“Let’s get some sleep, da? If we leave on time, we can get breakfast on the way to the airport,” he coaxed, kicking at the blanket so it could be draped over them, the cool winter air starting to get to him. It would be much colder in Russia, and maybe it was for the best that Duo wanted to get a new wardrobe. His current one was good for Chicago winters, but not for Russian ones.

“Wear something very warm, it will be quite cold when we land,” he said absently, sleep already pulling him under. “Don’t want you to get sick.” He fell asleep after that, habit and exhaustion carrying him to sleep quickly.

 


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after a nice little two week break, we're back! Thank you as always to chronicwhimsy for her wonderful and lovely beta. Thank you also to kangofu_CB for her constant support and cheerleading <3\. You're both appreciated.
> 
> Anything in italics is in Russian! 
> 
> For those of you who were asking for more about Trowa, this chapter is pretty heavily in his POV, and deals with more of his backstory. In fact, you could say that most of the Russia arc is heavy on Trowa's backstory. So buckle up for that! There's more fluff as these two sort their shit out, which we'll all need before we get back into the grit and angst of the plot ^_~. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

"I can't believe this is happening," Duo spoke in an excited whisper, bouncing in his seat. It seemed like a miracle. Two weeks ago he hadn't even had a passport. And now he was on a plane to Russia, sitting next to his lover. Taking Trowa's hand in his, squeezed tightly, humming. "We're going to Russia."

“Hmm,” Trowa agreed, squeezing back as he stretched his legs out. “There will be much to do once we arrive,” he murmured quietly. “It will not be long before news of the Broker being on the Russian Porch will spread, and while my identity isn’t known, my position as his Left Hand is. Avoid using my name, if at all possible.” The warning came out low, hushed. “The name Trowa Barton does not exist in Russia. You can call me whatever you wish, but not Trowa Barton.”

Duo nodded, brow furrowing. He remembered what Howie had told him. It made sense. Gnawing on his lip a little, Duo tilted his head, surveying Trowa seriously, then nodding again. This time it was determined, Duo’s jaw setting as he looked his lover over. 

“You know I won’t let anyone hurt you, right, leannan?” he spoke under his breath, leaning in to put his lips to Trowa’s ears. Duo was serious, eyes dark and flat as they looked at Trowa. Trowa was his, and Duo would die defending him, if necessary. Lips curving in a small, dark smile, he leaned closer, lowering his voice further to whisper huskily in his ear, the Russian stilted but perfect. “ _ I didn’t chase you only to lose you.”  _

“ _ When did you-- How long have you known how to speak Russian? _ ” Trowa asked, eyes widening in surprise. 

Duo preened, beaming as Trowa’s eyes widened. He’d been saving that. As soon as Trowa had told him he could come, he’d bought a language learning set, studying it every waking hour. It was hard to hide it from Trowa. He’d wanted to practice with him. But he’d also wanted it to be a surprise. While Duo was far from fluent, he was learning quickly. The language was strange, but the strangeness made it easier, somehow, and his brain soaked it up. 

“ _ You never cease to amaze me, little death lord _ ,” he murmured, smiling with elation. Trowa pressed his hand to Duo’s cheek, turning his face to capture his lips. Duo kissed him back gladly, warm with the happiness his lover was showing. This was why he was learning Russian. Why he had kept it a surprise. Duo didn’t think many people had ever tried to make Trowa feel special, and he felt his resolve strengthen. If no one else was going to, he would. Happily. With pleasure. Trowa spoiled him outrageously, and Duo was more than willing to do the same. He was almost desperate to, covering Towa’s hand with his own, smiling up at him. 

“ _ I wanted--a surprise. For you,”  _ Duo made a face and switched back to English. “I’m not fluent. But I wanted to learn for you. You do so much for me already. I want to spoil you the way you spoil me.” 

" _ I am surprised. I do feel spoiled. Very spoiled, _ " Trowa confirmed, the smile lingering. He spoke slowly and carefully. " _ Stick to Russian, yes? I will help, and you will learn faster. You speak it very clearly. _ " 

" _ I will try,"  _ Duo agreed. He felt elated, buoyed by his success as he leaned into another kiss, cupping the back of Trowa’s head and leaning into him. Duo didn't think he'd ever seen Trowa look so happy. And he wanted to keep him that way. Pulling back, he stroked the nape of his neck softly, giving him a tender look. 

"You know--that things don't have to be one sided, right?" Duo bit his lip, switching to English and speaking hesitantly. He didn't want to mess this up. Didn't want to use the wrong word and upset Trowa. "I do--want to reciprocate. I love how much you focus on me, and I don't want to push if you're not ready. Just--I don't want you to think I don't want to. That I don't want you." He looked away, shoulders curling just a little. It had occurred to him that maybe Trowa didn't want him to reciprocate. What intimacies they'd shared so far had been overwhelmingly focused on Duo's pleasure, and Duo lapped the attention up like a spoiled kitten. But he wanted to make sure Trowa knew it didn't have to be one sided. As long as he didn't feel pressured one way or the other. 

"It's--no pressure. Just--whenever you're ready. I want to touch and taste you too. Whenever," he gave Trowa a crooked smile, then looked back towards the window, a little tense. It was new. Trying to balance what he wanted with what Trowa might now want. What was important, he thought, was making sure Trowa knew what he wanted, while making sure Trowa knew Duo could (and would) wait. For as long as necessary. 

" _ I want you to be,"  _ Duo paused, searching for the right word as he watched out the window. " _ I want you to be spoiled also. You deserve it also." _

Trowa flushed, looking down at his lap. "I would like that," he started. "But... it is difficult. I don't know how to say it. When... when we land, I will show you, da?" 

Duo reached out, taking Trowa’s hand again, squeezing it. His face was serious, eyes intent as they looked at him. Trowa looked nervous, flushed and looking down, and it gave him a surge of confidence. He wasn’t the only one out of his depth, here. They were both unused to relationships, and they both had their own share of baggage. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Trowa,” Duo spoke sincerely, hand tight on his. “I know you have your reasons. I just want to make sure none of them are thinking I don’t want you.” He brought Trowa’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. 

"Da," Trowa whispered, eyes squeezing shut. "I will still show you. Maybe... Maybe it will help. Maybe... you will know how to fix it. I don't know what's wrong. It's why I don't know how to say it. I need... I want show you." 

Duo shifted closer to Trowa, raising the armrest between them and wrapping both arms around him. He didn't know what was wrong, what was making Trowa so upset, and he wished he hadn't said anything. Humming soothingly, he peppered his face with kisses, hand stroking over his back.

_ "It is okay," _ he murmured, lips pressing to his ear.  _ "It is okay. Nothing is bad."  _  Duo wished he'd learned more Russian. Wished he had the words to reassure his lover. Biting his lip, he tucked Trowa's face against his neck, holding him tightly. " _ It will be okay." _

Trowa said nothing. His lover clung tightly to him in silence, and after some time, his breathing began to even out. Duo said nothing. He pressed his cheek to the glass and watched the scenery go by, his own eyes soon slipping shut.

* * *

 

Duo was dazzled. The city was old in a way Chicago wasn't, nestled in the snow like a jewel. It was also freezing. Duo put his foot down when they landed: he was shopping. What he'd packed was warm, but it was warm for Chicago. Russia froze him, the wind nipping at his reddened cheeks and nose, and he needed a thicker coat, better boots. It was a fast trip, Duo making notes of shops to visit later, alone. Without Trowa. They spoke almost exclusively in Russian, the language slowly loosening on Duo's tongue. He was happy and exhausted when they finally crashed at the safe house, setting his bags down in the living room. 

"I'm going to find an apartment," he told Trowa firmly. "You're welcome to come visit. I think--I need to exist separate of you. As my own thing." He looker rare earnestly at Trowa. "You're the Broker, and I'm still an assassin. But I'm more effective if people don't see me that way." It was something he'd thought about on the plane, when Trowa was sleeping. No one would pay attention to a spoiled heiress. No one would connect him to Trowa, not on the outside. And on the inside... Duo was skilled and dissolving into the shadows. No one would make the connection. Trowa nodded, stepping up to Duo and resting a hand on each cheek, a fond look in his eye as he took in the tired boy.

"That is a good plan," he agreed. "I want you to be able to have your own place, I travel between here and Chicago often, and you might, too. It is not fair to you to have to keep to my habits. It will be safer for you, too. My tech support here will help you get set up with ID, and secure your phone for the frequency here. She can also help with housing, she sets me up often with new safe houses. You will like her, I believe." 

Duo nodded, his hands coming up to stroke Trowa’s wrists. 

“I don’t want you to have to babysit me,” he admitted, smiling a little. “And I think--I can help. If I create a persona specific to here, it’ll let me move around freely. Plus I’m gonna need more closet space. I’ll meet with her tomorrow?” Duo covered a yawn with his hand, then gave Trowa a sheepish look. It was late, and he was tired. So tired. Humming a little, he pulled away, heading for the bathroom. 

“I’m going to shower and get ready for bed. Did you want to join me?”Trowa hummed but did not reply, picking up their bags and moving them into the bedroom. Frowning, Duo continued into the shower, shrugging his shoulder. They were both exhausted. Trowa probably wanted to get some sleep.

Duo crawled into bed naked some time later, hair braided tightly. He yawned, wiggling towards Trowa and wrapping his arms around him. It was going to be busy. Trowa had work, and Duo wanted an apartment as quickly as possible. A penthouse. Something nice, flashier than what he had in Chicago. He was trying to decide on a persona, who he would be in Russia.  

Duo didn’t know how he was going to balance it all. He was Duo, with Trowa. He was Shinigami, the Broker’s Knife. And here in Russia, he would be Max Black, spoiled rich kid on vacation. Or whatever persona he formed. What mattered was that no one connected Shinigami with Duo. That people looking at him and Trowa together did not connect him with the assassin who did the dirty work. The man who kept his lover safe. 

Whoever he became in Russia would need to be anonymous enough that he could go with Trowa when needed, without drawing too much attention. But not so anonymous that he was an anomaly. Just someone who was not to be taken too seriously. Someone who could be easily dismissed. Even as Duo, as Trowa’s lover, Duo needed to be beautiful and alluring, without being seen as a person. To be an effective weapon, Duo needed to be seen and not seen. And for Trowa, Duo knew he would find a way.

* * *

 

The jetlag wasn’t too bad, considering he’d slept on the flight as well, but he was cautious as he got out of bed, sure that Duo wasn’t as well adjusted. He took the time to shower and shave, unpack the few clothes he bought, and send an email to Hilde about helping Duo get himself established. After that, he took a walk around the block, surveying the territory, noting new changes, and picking up breakfast for both of them before heading back to the house.

It really was a house. Small, one-floor, three rooms. One was the main room, the other a bedroom, and the third having the toilet and shower. It fit in well with all the other homes around them, not sticking out or drawing attention. He’d been leery of having so many neighbours, but Hilde pointed out that the best place to hide was right in the middle of conformity. He set the food on the table, unwrapping the scarf and hanging it up along with his hat, coat, and sweater. He toed his boots off, and then started some coffee. 

It wasn’t long before he could hear Duo moving around, the soft padding of his feet across the floor. And then he was there, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning into him. Trowa smiled, letting the warmth of his lover seep through him. 

“Good morning,” Duo purred, nuzzling between his shoulderblades. “Something smells good.” 

“Breakfast,” Trowa said, turning and tilting Duo’s face up for a kiss. His hands slid up into Duo’s hair, playing with the strands idly as he leaned back against the counter, taking in the image the boy presented. The long hair, the sleep-hooded eyes. A half-asleep vision in silk, and one that was all his. He offered one of the baked pastries to Duo, taking a bite of the other. Flavour exploded on his tongue, light and sweet but filling.

“Sleep well?” he asked, threading his fingers through the long strands, watching them slide against his tanned skin. He didn’t have to head anywhere immediately today, not until Hilde gave him the all clear for his phone and laptop. Duo took the pastry with a nod. He ate quietly, watching Trowa with sparkling eyes. He swallowed his food and then tilted his head, grinning at Trowa and leaning back against the table, crossing one leg in front of the other, the black robe falling open just a little. 

“I did. You kept me very warm,” he winked, grin widening. “Do you have plans for us today? After I speak with your tech person?” Duo reached one foot out, teasingly touching Trowa’s knee with his toe. “I think I could brave the cold, with you there.”

"She'll get back to me when she's ready. Today I normally take to adjust to the time difference, stock up on supplies, and make sure there isn't anything demanding immediate attention. Though, it rarely happens that I do not know beforehand of such matters upon arriving." He caught Duo's foot with his free hand, sliding his hand up and rubbing his knee teasingly. 

"Did you have any plans? Anything you wanted to do? Today, I am yours alone."

"Other than making sure I have an apartment here soon...no," Duo laughed, tugging his foot out of Trowa's grasp and wrapping his arms around his neck, nuzzling his chin. "We can do whatever you want." He kissed Trowa's lower lip, beaming happily at him. 

"Maybe you could show me some things here? What you like and don't like?" Duo looked shy, biting his lower lip. "I want to--to know what you love about Russia." 

Trowa’s smile softened, his eyes glimmering as he regarded Duo. After a minute of silence, he rested his head against Duo’s, eyes closing with content. There was so much he loved about Russia. The buildings, the vastness, the cold. The sense of connection he felt as his feet touched the soil of his homeland. It was overwhelming at times, and it was why he ran back to Chicago.

“I would like that. I’ll try. I have never shown anyone, or tried to. So much… cannot be explained. Only experienced.” He smiled fondly. “Yes, I will show you. I will teach you to love Russia as I do.”

“I guess I better change then,” Duo grinned, then pulled away, undoing the sash of his robe and sliding it over his shoulders as he made his way back to the bedroom. The silky fabric teased down his back exposing his creamy skin as he walked. And then he let it drop, stepping into the bedroom completely nude, shooting Trowa a cheeky smirk over his shoulder. Trowa took in Duo’s naked body with appreciation, lips quirking in a smirk. Shaking his head with fond amusement, he turned, cleaning up the kitchen of their breakfast. It was a quick job, and it left Trowa time to survey the kitchen. He’d have to get supplies soon.

Trowa leaned against the bedroom door, watching as Duo dressed. The clothing he’d brought wasn’t going to be warm enough. If they were further south, maybe. But here, they were too far north. It was only warm for a short time each year. Sometime he’d have to take Duo south, show him the parts of Russia not wasted by winter and harsh storms. Take him to Moscow at some point, too. There were many places to see, so many places to go.

“You are going to freeze your ass off,” Trowa pointed out. “Which is a shame. It is a very nice ass.”

Duo flipped his hair over his shoulder, pouting back at Trowa with twinkling eyes. He looked down at his ass, then back at Trowa, playfully sticking out his tongue. Turning, he put his hands on his hips, gaze challenging. 

“Do you want to dress me?” he taunted, tilting his head. “My coat is very warm. And you are very warm. You won’t let me freeze, will you?” 

"Never," he said seriously, then smiled. "But this is a Russian winter, I would need to make you look like a marshmallow to have any effect." He opened the closet, shifting through the clothes on the rack before pulling out a dark knee-length coat, slipping it around the boy's shoulders while he opened a drawer, finding a thick cap, a pair of deceptively thin gloves, and a matching scarf.

"There isn't much I can do for your legs, but the coat will help against any wind chill. The hat is lined inside, so it will help keep your head warm enough. The gloves are, too. You will always want to wear a pair, especially at this time of the year. These ones are thin enough to not hinder your dexterity, but are lined inside so they insulate. The scarf is the same. Soft part against you, the tails aren't lined." 

Duo grinned at Trowa, a flush spreading over his nose. Taking the offered items, he sat them on the bed, quickly pulling his hair up into a bun and tugging on the hat. He did the gloves next, then buttoned the coat. 

“I’m ready,” he beamed up at him, wrapping the scarf around his neck. Duo took Trowa’s hand in his own, squeezing.  “Let’s get out of here. I want to see your homeland.” Snorting, Trowa lead him to the front door, dropping his hand to don his own winter gear again. Once again taking his hand, he lead Duo out into the cold winter morning. The city itself was starting to wake up, people commuting to where they needed to go, focused more on their destination than the people around them. It gave them the perfect amount of privacy.

“First, we need to get supplies,” Trowa said. He got into the rental car, pulling on his seatbelt and checking that the rear was clear. “There is a market that I enjoy going to. During the summer, it is outside. You will like it.” They tended to use a large warehouse during the colder season to help keep the wind and chill away. He preferred to get things locally, even in the leaner months. These were his people. He would make sure that they were fed and clothed during the hard times. He explained that to Duo, as well.

“This is my Porch. They do not know it is me, but I make sure that the people living here, even the ones who do not work for me, are able to survive. Winter is hard for those who sell items in the market. The farming season is over, and only those who are able to keep greenhouses have any produce to sell. You find many canned and preserved foods now, as well as meats and fish from hunting. I always buy what I can from there, as they need to eat themselves. It is different than Chicago. There is no relief for them here.”

Duo listened intently as Trowa spoke, taking his hand in his own, lips curving as he looked up at his lover, his grip tightening.

“You take such good care of your people,” he murmured, voice low enough that only Trowa could hear. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for, I think. Don’t worry. I will keep your secret.” Duo winked at him, arching up to kiss Trowa on the cheek. It wasn’t long before they were parked, climbing out of the car to make their way towards the vast warehouse. There were people streaming out of it, heading in, and Trowa soaked it up gladly, enjoying the steady murmur of Russian around them. 

“I could cook,” Duo offered as the passed a table of fresh rabbits. “If we want to get something for dinner. I have a recipe for a noodle dish--like a casserole. It’s good, and it will be warm and filling.” 

“That would be good. I can’t cook very well,” Trowa confessed ruefully. “I mean, I can. I do not  _ enjoy _ cooking, no. I would prefer to eat what you make.” He slid his arm around Duo’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they walked through the market. 

“I don’t mind cooking,” Duo hummed a little. “I like it. Especially for you. You are so appreciative of food. I learned a little about wine. I think I like wine. It’s--nice. I never wanted to know, with--before.” His nose wrinkled. Trowa looked down at his face, then tugged him towards a booth, wanting to change the subject. 

“These clothes here, they are well made by the people who are selling them. I bought the gloves, hat, and scarf you are wearing from this man,” Trowa said, pointing to an older man behind a large pile of winter gear. There were sweaters and thick dresses hanging up, as well as items for when it grew warmer. “He spends all year making sure that he has enough to sell in the winter. And then in the winter, he makes clothes to start selling in spring. He is quite smart. I buy new clothes from him often. His wife is very kind. She made your breakfast today.”

“Oh?” Duo brightened at the mention of clothes, giving Trowa an impish look. “I’ll have to remember that. I definitely want to get some more clothes.” He laughed happily, resting his head on Trowa’s shoulder. 

Trowa guided Duo through the stalls with a sense of contentment, a soft smile playing at the edges of his mouth. He knew that those familiar with his presence was giving Duo second looks. Most of them were curious, the people wondering who Trowa had decided to stand so close with, who he would wrap his arm around. Here, he wasn’t known as Trowa Barton, nor as The Broker; he was Nanashi, the Left Hand of the Broker. Trowa Barton, the Right Hand, was who he appeared as in Chicago. In both cities, and with both names, he wasn’t known for letting people close. He was cold, aloof, unattached, and impersonable. Almost untouchable, behind glass. So it was natural for them to wonder who could have broken down that barrier and pushed themselves under the arm of the Left Hand.

Duo pulled away suddenly from Trowa, pausing at a table to look at jewelry. They were delicate necklaces, watches with intricate cages on thin silver chains, and he stooped to look at them, violet eyes glowing as he looked them over. 

“Get what you want,” Trowa murmured, picking up a necklace to examine the stone. It was genuine; small, but real. The jeweler who had made it worked with a miner further to the east. He’d been working that mine since he was a young man, having inherited it from his father. It was his family’s trade. Trowa laid it back down carefully, giving the woman behind the booth a nod. “For now, you can use my wallet. We will get an account set up for you with Russian currency. They do not want your American money.” Trowa rubbed Duo’s back lightly, encouraging him to keep looking. He could tell the moment his lover found something. Duo brightened, selecting a small filigree watch with a purple stone hanging on circle next to it. He handed it to the woman with a shy smile, stumbling through his Russian as he requested the purchase. She smiled back, wrapping it, watching Trowa out of the corner of her eye. 

“There are many beautiful things in this market, though none will match up to you,” he murmured, one hand still at the small of Duo’s back as he passed payment to the stall owner. Duo stared up at him, eyes wide, face flaming, mouth open in surprise, barely noticing as the package was placed in his hands. He ducked his head, lips curving in a small smile, missing the wink Trowa shot to the old woman.

“You can’t just--say that,” Duo protested, tucking his package in his pocket. He looked up at Trowa through his lashes, lower lip drawn between his teeth. “I feel like my face is going to melt off!”

"That would be a shame. It is a very lovely face. You agree, do you not, Madame?" Trowa asked, addressing the blatantly eavesdropping woman working the booth. She smiled wide in response.

"Oh, yes! I would gladly trade my son's face for yours, boy. He's the spitting image of his father, the poor lad." She shook her head mockingly. "Can't have everything, that's what I learned."  Trowa laughed softly, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Duo's cheek, then his lips, leading him away from the soft laughing woman.

"I will gladly let the entire world see what I feel for you. I'm not ashamed of you. I want you to hear that as often as I am able to," he spoke softly, gaze darting to his lover’s face as they walked. Duo's face was burning, his lips curved in a bright, irrepressible smile. 

"I should warn you that I'm very easy to spoil," it was teasing, a shy edge to it. Duo arched up onto his tiptoes, kissing Trowa's jaw, then tugged his hand. "Come on, love. I want to see everything."

Trowa showed him around, introducing him to some of the locals, telling him a bit more about their backgrounds. He didn’t hesitate to pay for whatever Duo wanted, either, more than willing to treat his lover. Every so often he’d let his hand trail along Duo’s back, or pull him closer and give him another kiss. The market was starting to pick up as midday came, and Trowa was carrying several bags of produce, clothes, and other supplies. His phone had alerted him to a message from Hilde, who said she was available this afternoon at the cafe near the safehouse. He sent back an affirmative without thought. Duo was flushed and cold and grinning when Trowa leaned in, carrying his own share of bags. There were several pairs of gloves, many warm scarves, and a combination of dresses and shirts. And then there was jewelry. Nothing overly ornate. Mostly watches, on long chains. He’d picked up several rings, too, small and silver and intricately carved with flowers. Trowa nipped at his ear, guiding him back towards the car.

“Come. It is time to go. My techie will be ready for you around 4.” 

“That sounds perfect,” Duo replied, swinging their hands with childlike glee. “Gives us time to get home and put things away. And I can start dinner.” Biting his lip a little, Duo tilted his head, shooting Trowa a searching look. He kept quiet as they walked, speaking up only once they were back in the car, their bags tucked carefully away.

“It’s hard not calling you by your name,” he admitted. “Do you--have a name here?” 

“Most call me Nanashi,” Trowa said, his lips quirking in an ironic grin. 

“Nanashi,” Duo repeated, head tilting. 

“It means no name.” The Japanese man who’d been employed by Trowa Barton had called him that, and he’d taken it as his alias after becoming his own person. He was nameless in Russia, and he didn’t mind. It was what he was, and it was what he did best.

Nodding, Duo returned Trowa’s grin. “It suits you, I think.”


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a surprise for everyone, including me! I didn't realize I had finished editing it. Many thanks to chronicwhimsy for being much more diligent than I am, and for an excellent beta job. 
> 
> Things are moving right along for our boys. This chapter features our boys having some serious conversations, Duo bastardizing Russian pet names, and an adorable sleepy Trowa.

****“I’m glad I came. I like it here,” unbuckling, Duo tugged at Trowa’s hand. “Let’s get you inside. Dinner can wait until after I meet with your techie. Why don’t I give you a massage instead? Help you relax?” It was a little shy. Opening the door to the backseat, he grabbed an armful of bags. “Or--I could just nap with you.”

“Mm, how about both?” Trowa said, helping carry in bags. Once the car was unloaded, the fresh produce put away and the rest able to wait until after they rested, he pulled his clothes off, stripping down to his briefs and crawling into bed with a groan, face-down on the pillow as he stretched languidly.

“This isn’t as comfortable as your bed. I miss your bed. I should get all my beds like yours,” Trowa grumbled, shifting back and forth. “It does not smell like you either. Come fix that.” Duo laughed. After a few minutes of rummaging through his bags, he took out a bottle of lavender-scented massage oil, climbing on to the bed and straddling Trowa’s hips.

“Bossy,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the tanned curve of his Trowa’s shoulder.

It hurt, at first, as Duo’s fingers dug into his back. He’d never had this done before, couldn’t have ever fathomed letting someone near him while he was exposed, pinned down and nearly helpless in such a position. But as the pain faded, the pleasure rose after. Of his back not hurting, his body relaxing, a soft groan of satisfaction escaping his lips as he stretched again, arching into Duo’s touch.

“Shit,” he moaned, “that feels good.”

“It’s supposed to,” Duo murmured, leaning in to press a kiss behind Trowa’s ear. He slid down a little, perching on his thighs as his hands kneading the dense muscle at the small of his back. With a satisfied hum, Duo ran his hands up Trowa’s sides, then back down, drawing one finger teasingly over the curve of his ass. He slid forward again, knees on either side of his hips as he ran firm hands up his back in deep, sweeping gestures.

“We’re doing this more often,” it was almost an order. “At least once a week. You are so stressed Nanashka. I don’t like it. I want you to be relaxed. At least when you are with me.” The endearment was said softly, almost shyly, Duo’s hands stilling at Trowa’s waist as he nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Trowa teased, his breath hitching as Duo pressed deeper into his muscles, hands sliding across his back with the help of the oil. It felt good, so good, and his body melted under the boy’s expert touch. He bit the pillow to stifle his moan, not wanting to-- to break the moment. The nickname, filled with such affection, had him flushing across his cheeks and nose, and he glanced to the side, looking back at Duo with fondness.

“Oh, little killer, you’re going to spoil me rotten.”

“Good,” Duo retorted, leaning in. He kissed Trowa soundly, tongue darting out to tease over his lower lip. Sliding off his back, Duo stretched out against Trowa’s side, stroking his back with one hand and propping his head up with the other. Nuzzling his jaw, Duo bit affectionately at the end of it, brushing his ear with his lips.

“You’re tired, Nanashka,” he kept his voice low and husky, draping a leg over Trowa’s, arm settling firmly around his waist. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up before I have to leave.” Duo was half-hard, snug against Trowa’s side. Trowa turned, lips brushing Duo's, drawing him into a long, deep kiss, hooking his foot around Duo's leg and fitting them together more snugly, feeling the growing hardness against his own flaccid cock.

"I am glad you are here with me, my little death god," he murmured, resting his head against Duo's shoulder.

Duo beamed at him, flushing a pale pink. He wrapped his arms around Trowa’s shoulders, holding him tightly and stroking his fingers through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of Trowa’s head.

“I’m glad too,” he whispered. “I can handle being parted from you...but I don’t like it.”

Trowa ran a hand down Duo's side, fingers lightly trailing down and dipping into the waistband of his cotton panties. Squeezing the flesh of his ass, he slid a leg between Duo's. Duo whined softly as Trowa squeezed his ass, rocking forward against him. Trowa helped Duo grind against his thigh in gentle thrusts guided by his hand.

"I love the way you blush when I tell people how beautiful you are. When I compliment you in public. It makes me want you, to touch you more than I can in front of them." He willed his own body to respond to no avail, but he kept up the steady rocking against Duo's leg regardless. Duo’s cheeks were flaming, the color quickly spreading down his neck and chest.

Duo bit his lip, hands sliding down Trowa’s back, gripping the small of it as he moaned.

“Trowa,” he panted, pressing his face to his hair, stiff nipples brushing against Trowa’s chest. “Want you.”

"Me too, love," he whispered, squeezing Duo's ass before letting go, sliding his hand down the boy's arm and guiding it to his cock, letting him feel what the problem was. He couldn't hide the shame in his eyes as he looked into his face, his voice craving as he said, "I want to take you, so much, but I don't know _why_ my body won't _let_ me." The anger, frustration, and humiliation tainted his words, tears at the corners of his eyes.

"I don't know why I can't-- can't--" he tucked his head into Duo's shoulder, hiding his face as he ran out of words to use.

Carding his hand through Trowa’s hair, Duo pressed soft kisses to his forehead. He wiggled a little, wrapping his arms around Trowa’s waist and leaning their foreheads together, nose brushing against his.

“It’s okay, Nanashka,” he soothed. “It’ll be okay. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” Duo gave him a quick kiss, fingers stroking down his back. “I can wait for you. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

“I don’t want to wait forever.” Trowa’s breath hitched, even as he uselessly ground his hips against Duo. “I want you now, I want to take you, to feel you around my cock, but it just _won’t get hard_ .” He stilled, letting out a harsh breath and choking back a sob. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know how to make it-- make it work. I can, sometimes, but when it matters, when you’re here in my arms, wanting and willing, it _won’t_.”

That was the joke, Trowa thought. When he had Duo right there, ready and ripe for the taking, his body taunted him with his inability to be able to have him.

“It’s okay,” Duo soothed. “I don’t--I don’t think getting angry will help. It’s like--if you’re obsessing over how something will hurt, it hurts more, right?” He sat up a little, looking down at Trowa with an intent expression on his face.

“You’ve--been hard before. With me. In the dressing room, when I asked you to fix my garter,” Duo smiled a little. “The night we kissed, with the wine. And after I killed Thomas.  You can, Trowa. Maybe it’s just--stress?”

Trowa gave a shrug, not sure how to answer. He didn’t know what was wrong, why this was happening.

“I don’t know,” Trowa murmured. “I just-- I want you. Remember that. I want to have you. I’ll find a way to-- to make it happen. To find out why--” he stumbled over his words, hands coming up to cup Duo’s face, look at him intently. “I want you. You deserve all the affection and attention you deserve. It is not your fault I’m-- I’m broken. This is all on me, not something you’ve done. Understood?” He pressed a kiss to Duo’s lips. “I desire you, even if my body isn’t showing you the way I would like it to.”

Duo leaned in to Trowa’s hands, smiling at him. Turning his head, he kissed the inside of Trowa’s palm, then sighed a little, giving him a tender, love-filled look.

“You are not broken,” he said firmly. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’re not broken. We’ll figure it out, okay?” Duo ran his fingers through Trowa’s hair, returning his kiss, then smiled, rubbing their noses together. “I’m--perfectly happy being spoiled to death by you. And when it’s time for more, I’ll be ready then, too.”

Trowa, eyes damp, surged forward to capture Duo's mouth in a desperate kiss, eyes falling shut as he showed his little demon how much that meant to him. He rolled them, pulling Duo to sit astride his lap, legs splayed wide around Trowa's waist.

"I love you, my demon," Trowa said, finding Duo's hand. "I have never known what that truly felt like, but if it feels anything like I'm feeling now I don't want to ignore it. You... I've never..." He leaned up, one arm moving to prop him up as he kissed Duo again.

"Will you come for me? Will you let me see you overcome with ecstasy? To see the way your eyes light up as you spill your seed on my stomach?"

Duo kissed back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Trowa’s neck and pressing closer to him. He melted against him, clinging to his hand, smiling dreamily at him as he kissed back.

“Yeah,” Duo breathed. “I’m yours. You can have me any way you want me.” It was soft and sincere, the soft lavender of Duo’s eyes full of love and want, cheeks pinked. Resting his forehead against Trowa’s, he shifted on his lap, running his hands down his chest. “How do you want me, love?”

"That's up to you. This is your show, your pleasure. I am only witness to it. Do as you please, and I will enjoy it." He stroked Duo's legs gently, thumbs rubbing into the muscle. "You're in control, you get to make the demands."

He wasn't seeking to dominate Duo. If Duo wanted that, it would be later, when Trowa was certain it wouldn't set the boy back on all the progress he'd made since being ensnared by Merquise. Right now, the best way was to let Duo lead. To give reign over to the boy and let him be in control. To show him sex wasn't a power game, all about taking.

Biting his lip, Duo turned on Trowa's lap, pressing his back against his chest. He hooked an arm back around his neck, turning and giving him a deep kiss. Guiding Trowa's hand to his cock, he ground against it, panting and nipping at his lower lip.

"Like this," Duo drew Trowa's lower lip into his mouth and sucked, eyes hooding in pleasure. "I want you to touch me. Wanna feel your arm around me while you stroke my cock."

Trowa used his other hand to spread the boy's legs wider as his hand stroked down the hard shaft. He pressed kisses along Duo's lips and jaw, his hand sliding easier as beads of precum started to gather, stolen by Trowa's hand to ease the friction. Duo pressed back against him, thrusting into Trowa’s hand with a moan.

"I do this to myself," Trowa murmured into his ear. "I think about you in those garters, the way your eyes looked at me as I got to my knees in that dressing room. I touch myself to thoughts of you, how your face looks when I'm pushing my fingers inside you." He teased Duo's entrance with his other hand, a finger rubbing at the puckered flesh.

"I will find out how to overcome this," he whispered, thumbing the swelling head of the boy's cock. "I will take you, let you feel me moving inside you, fill you with my release. I will give you that pleasure, no matter what it takes."

“Trowa,” he moaned, turning his head and kissing him messily. Trowa sucked on the exposed skin of his neck, stroking him through his release, his hand slowing as the spurts of cum lessened, his hand slowing as they stopped. Duo whined, then stilled, panting against Trowa's chest.

"You're perfect," Trowa murmured, his own body relaxed, content. "I love you, Duo." He leaned then to the side, arms coming to cradle Duo closer to him. Duo licked his lips, turning his head to kiss Trowa's jaw. He wiggled, turning in Trowa's arms and pressing a happy kiss to his chin.

"I love you," he said it back without hesitation, then kissed Trowa on the mouth, tongue dipping past his lips. He tucked his head against his neck, clinging tightly to him. "Sleep?"

"Yes, let's sleep. You have a lot to do this afternoon," Trowa agreed, tucking his head against Duo's and relaxing into the bed. The smell of Duo, sex, and sweat were heavy, just the way Trowa needed to be. It didn't take long to fall asleep, raspy mumbles in Russian, nonsense from his sleeping brain, escaping through parted lips as he dreamt.

* * *

 

Duo slept deeply, curled around Trowa. It was good to nap, jetlag taking its toll on him. When he woke, he padded quietly out of bed to the kitchen, making a quick lunch of sandwiches. He ate his own sitting at the table, browsing the internet. Trowa wasn’t broken. He was stressed, and Duo was determined to find a game plan. This was something he could help with, he knew it. Clearing away his dishes and turning off his laptop, Duo dressed. Leaving his lover lying in bed, slipped out, heading to the cafe.

Hilde was fun. Duo liked her immediately, and they chatted for almost two hours. It was easier than he thought to find an apartment. He simply told Hilde what he was looking for, and she found it, quickly moving through the purchase process. It was all on the books, all something anyone could look up. But it was also very fast, so that by the time Duo was leaving to go back to Trowa, he had an appointment to pick up keys the next day, with furniture being delivered late in the afternoon. Feeling pleased with himself, he took his time going home, browsing the little boutiques along the street.

Duo stepped into the house with a smile on his face, taking off his hat and running his hand down his braid. His cheeks were flushed with cold, eyes bright and excited. Setting his bags down, he shrugged off his coat, hanging it and crossing to the room.

"Nanashka!" He greeted Trowa happily, rising up on his toes and kissing him on the cheek. "I have an apartment! It's going to be huge. I made sure to get an extra room for an office for you. I don't know if you use an office, but you'll have one. Hilde is going to set it up. The furniture comes in tomorrow. I'll probably get settled after. You are always welcome. Of course. But I know you like to move." Duo beamed at him, arms around his neck.

Trowa blinked slowly, then smiled warmly, mumbling a garbled congratulation around the carrot hanging from his mouth before leaning down and resting his forehead on Duo’s shoulder.

“Hilde’s very loyal,” he said around a mouthful of carrot. “She’ll be able to help you as Howard did.”

"You're cute when you're sleepy" Duo teased, turning his head to kiss Trowa's temple. He pulled away, heading to the fridge and drawing things out for dinner. "You have work? When will you be back?" Duo turned, leaning back against the counter. He would have dinner waiting. That would be the least he could do. Duo didn't want Trowa to go, but he knew he had to. It was part of his job. And it would give him time to research. To be ready.  

“Depends on how long it takes people to stop talking,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter where the coffee was finishing up. “I’m checking in with my Eyes and Ears, and finding out the current situation. I doubt it’s anything drastic, Hilde would have informed me immediately, but there’s still plenty to figure out. If there are enough places for people to sleep, if there’s enough food to eat, if the government has been leaning on my people again, if the other gangs have started invading, if the Bartons were stirring the pot again with the Khushrenada family.”

“I will also have to get in contact with all the major power groups, to make sure that our agreements haven’t been broken. But that will be more straightforward, stuffy and formal. You can come with me to those. I would like to have a dagger on hand, if things go sour,” he said, looking at Duo. “A dagger they’d never see coming.”

"You'll have one," Duo promised, reaching out to brush Trowa's hair back. He kissed his chin, then turned back to his food, beginning to chop the broccoli. "Go get dressed, love. I'll get dinner started. It'll be here when you get back." Smiling over his shoulder at Trowa, Duo bit back his worry. His Russian wasn't that good. He didn't want to embarrass Trowa. It would be a trying night, he knew, but he would go. He wouldn't let Trowa face them alone.

"You will come see the apartment tomorrow, right?" a slight crease appeared between his brows, the knife pausing. Duo turned, knife still in his hand. He pointed it threateningly at Trowa, brows narrowing. "I expect you to."

“I will. I look forward to it greatly,” Trowa hummed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Duo’s lips, his hand coming up to rub at the crease on Duo’s face.  “I must be going now, but I will be back soon.” Duo wrapped his free hand around Trowa’s wrist, leaning in to his hand and smiling at him. He kissed Duo again, his hand cupping his cheek before he drew back. He let it go with a sigh, watching Trowa step back. The fact that he could have his own place and still have Trowa left him feeling buoyant, bubbling over with good spirits. And Trowa would be back. He would be back for dinner, and he would come to his new home, the apartment he’d picked out. That Trowa encouraged him meant more than he could verbalize. So he didn’t say anything, just leaned up to give Trowa one last kiss on his chin.

“Be safe,” his eyes narrowed, gaze turning deadly. “If anyone touches, you I’ll gut them.” Duo turned back to his food, giving a piece of broccoli a particularly fierce chop.

“I will miss you, my little devil.”

He smiled over his shoulder at Trowa, eyes softening. “I’ll miss you, too.”


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to chronicwhimsy for her lovely beta and feedback. I shudder to think what this fic would be like without her. I'd like to dedicate this chapter (for reasons that will become apparent) to kangofu_cb, for her wonderful fic Mission: Redacted, and the wonderful Quatre she's written. 
> 
> The Russian honeymoon continues. I'm gonna be honest with you guys: the next four chapters are roughly 75% smut and these two idiots working out their relationship issues. Which I think we all agree is very important! But the plot is still there, and once the honeymoon is over, whooooo boy. There's gonna be a whole lot of action, of a very different kind.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3.

Duo cooked and cleaned while Trowa was gone. He ate his own dinner, setting aside a portion for Trowa. And then he pulled his laptop out. Whatever was going on with Trowa was something he could fix. All he needed to do was do research. What he found confirmed some things. It was probably just stress, which meant it was something they could work on. Especially when Duo thought back to the times he remembered Trowa getting hard: times there had been no pressure on him. Gnawing his lip, Duo turned his laptop off and made his way to the shower. 

The trick, he realized, would be making sure Trowa didn’t get anxious. For that reason, he decided to keep what he was planning to himself. He needed Trowa to be distracted. Too distracted to think about it. To worry and work himself into a state that would keep him from getting hard. Duo washed his hair, shaved, and dried himself off. Humming softly to himself, he carefully blow dried his hair, leaving it soft and loose down his back. Duo rubbed a lightly scented lotion onto his skin, then dressed in a new lingerie set, lips curved in a smile. 

Dressed, primped, and ready, Duo grabbed a book and made his way to the couch. Stretching out on his side, he propped his head up in one hand and began to read. His eyes darted to the clock, and then back to his book. He had time. Plenty of time. It was only nine. But Duo’s eyes were heavy, beginning to close, and soon he was fast asleep, head tucked against the curve of his arm, book open next to him.

* * *

 

Duo stirred as a blanket came over him. He didn’t wake up until he heard a voice, though. His response was instantaneous, hands moving at near-invisible speed. In a heartbeat, Duo had Trowa pinned to the ground, a knife against his throat, his teeth bared. And then he blinked, the hard line of his body relaxing.

“Oh,” he shifted back, straddling Trowa’s hips, lowering his knife. Sheepishly, Duo tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, looking up at Trowa through his lashes. “Sorry. You surprised me.” 

Trowa traced the line of Duo's jaw with the back of his hand, a tender smile on his lips. Duo leaned in to the hand, smiling back at his lover, a slight blush on his cheek. He dropped the knife on the side table, resting his hands on Trowa’s chest. It was good that Trowa didn’t seem upset. The man wasn’t rattled by Duo drawing a knife on him. It was comforting, somehow. Trowa knew who he was. Trowa knew what he was. His mouth going dry, Duo turned his head, placing a tender kiss on the center of Trowa’s palm.

"Sleep well, little killer?" his lover asked as he ran his hand down to the panties, giving the band a playful tug. He left the hand there, settled over Duo’s cock, drawing a flush to his cheeks. 

“I did,” Duo hummed, violet eyes impish as they glanced at Trowa’s face. “But I sleep better when you are here, Nanashka.” Duo's breath caught as Trowa pulled him down for a biting kiss, a shudder going through him. Trowa was always attentive, always passionate. But this was new, this was forceful, and Duo's knees tightened against his hips, hands fisting his shirt as he heat rolled up his spine. 

“You are so beautiful, so deadly,” Trowa whispered, eyes dark with lust. “The coldness in your stare as you look down your enemy, it makes my heart beat wildly to see it.”

"Does it?" Duo panted, pulling back. He sat up slowly, a wicked grin crossing his lips as he reached out, taking the knife off the table. "Do you like seeing me like this? Dressed up all pretty for you and holding a knife?" He tapped it carelessly against his jaw, tilting his head as if in thought. 

"Or do you like having my knife at your throat?" It was husky, Duo's eyes darkening. Here was someone he could play with. Here was someone he could match. Duo leaned in, running the knife tenderly along Trowa's jaw. "Do you want to play with me?" Trowa moaned low in his throat at the question, tilting his head to bare his throat to Duo.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, arching his back. “I’m at your mercy. Yours for the taking.” 

"Mine," Duo purred back, baring his teeth. Duo rocked against his hand, the friction sending a frenzy of desire dancing over his skin. He teased the knife down Trowa's neck with skilled, careful hands, leaning in to trace the path with his tongue. Trowa was his for the taking, his cock hardening underneath him, and that more than anything had Duo breathless, hips rolling back against him. 

"I'm going to get up," he spoke in a quiet, firm voice. "And we are going to the bedroom. You will behave. Yes?" Duo teased the knife down Trowa's chest, brushing the edge over a nipple as he waited for confirmation. This, he could use. He could work with. 

“Da,” Trowa whispered, breathless. His breath was coming in short, sharp pants, his eyes wide and hazy, looking up at Duo. “I want you,” he keened,  “want you so bad. Want to feel you, taste you. Duo,” he moaned, low and thick and writhing under him.

"You're going to have me," Duo promised, standing fluidly. With deft hands he slid the knife into the top of the garter, eyes hooding. He walked to the bedroom slowly, a sway in his hips, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder at Trowa, cocking one eyebrow. "Don't make me wait." 

He drew the nightie over his head, tossing it to the side and climbing on to the bed, kneeling in the middle of it and drawing the knife out. Idly toying with it, he kept his gaze locked on the door, waiting for Trowa. This. This was it. Trowa was hard and willing and Duo was going to enjoy every minute of it. The way the man gave, the way he completely bowed under Duo's command, sent prickles of heat shooting over his body, nipples tightening deliciously. He'd never been in charge before. He liked it. 

Trowa was close behind him. He knelt on the bed, looking at Duo with a reverent respect, reaching out for him and touching his face, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“So deadly,” he whispered, “so cold, but so, so hot to the touch. You burn me.”

Duo returned the kiss fervently, then pulled away, giving Trowa an imperious look. He ran his hand through Trowa’s hair, then fisted it, leaning in to tug his lower lip with his teeth. The knife teased over Trowa’s chest, down his stomach, dipping it briefly under the tented fabric to stroke at his skin. Duo felt electricity crackling in his veins, drunk on the control Trowa so willingly surrendered to him. Pulling away from his mouth, Duo put his hand in the middle of Trowa’s chest and pushed, sending him backwards on the bed and then straddling his hips. 

“I think I like you like this,” he hummed, carefully slicing through Trowa’s shirt, leaving his chest bare. Running his hand over his skin, Duo circled a nipple with the knife, looking down into Trowa’s face and rolling his hips forward. “You look so good.” 

Trowa groaned low in his throat. "Duo," he gasped again, voice cracking, "want you." 

“I’m going to let you have me,” Duo panted, adding a slight twist to his hips. He slid off of Trowa, standing next to the bed and slowly tugging off his panties. Smirking, he pointed the knife at Trowa, eyes raking hungrily over his body. “Take your pants off and get up against the headboard.” The response was instantaneous. Trowa slid his hands down to the button of his fly, undoing it and shimmying out of his pants before scooting up to the headboard, looking at Duo with hooded eyes. His hands rested in loosely curled fists in his lap. Duo's lips curved, his gaze softening as he took in Trowa's body, the hard cock between his legs. Settling on his lover’s lap, he hooked one arm around Trowa's neck and teasing the knife down his chest. Tapping it over his heart, he nipped along his jaw, tongue caressing his ear. 

"This? Is mine," he spoke softly, knife drawing a heart, the pressure steady, careful not to cut. "And if you ever leave me I will cut it out." Duo dragged his teeth down Trowa's neck, biting hard at the crook and letting the knife lower, stroking the curve of his waist. His lips moved lower, tasting Trowa's nipples, teeth teasing along the hard line of his stomach. 

"Get the lube," he instructed, an edge to his voice. "You can stretch me while I suck you. And then I'm gonna ride your cock until you can't breathe."  Trowa’s breath hitched. He reached over to the bedside table, opening the drawer. With slightly shaking hands, he popped the lid open, squeezing some of the slick substance onto his fingers, reaching behind Duo to tease at his entrance before pressing one finger in slowly, sinking it all the way to his third knuckle, hand splayed out along the curve of his ass.

“I’ll never leave you,” Trowa breathed, his other arm coming to wrap around Duo’s back, his chest arching into Duo’s bites, his body shuddering at the nip of blade and teeth. He drew his finger out of Duo, pressing back in and twisting before withdrawing again, two slowly pressing into the first knuckle, Trowa’s eyes focused on Duo’s face as he worked him open. “I’m yours, only yours,” he promised.

"Good," Duo snarled, baring his teeth up at him, even as he thrust back against his fingers. His cheeks were flushed, eyes blown with lust. Duo panted, knife tight in one hand as he flicked his tongue out at the head of Trowa's cock. The taste made him growl, made his body tighten, and he slammed the knife down, stabbing it through the pillow and reaching out to grab Trowa's hips. Licking his lips, he leaned back in, looking up at Trowa as he took his cock in his mouth, sucking hard, tongue bathing the hot skin in swirls. 

His eyes fluttered shut. Duo moaned around the cock in his mouth, the taste and scent overwhelming him, making his thighs tremble. How long had he wanted his? How long had he wanted to taste Trowa, to have the heavy weight of him on his tongue? Rolling his hips back, he rode Trowa's fingers, bathing his cock with his tongue. He pulled back, pressing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of his thigh, looking up at him through his lashes. "Mine." 

“Yours,” Trowa agreed, his breath a drawn out moan as Duo drew him back into his mouth, pushing in a third finger. Duo cried out as Trowa's fingers brushed against him, hips arching. He pulled off his cock with a growl, sliding onto his lap and wrapping one arm around his neck. Steadying him with one hand, Duo kissed him hungrily, tongue darting through his mouth as he lowered himself, body sinking into Trowa's cock with agonizing slowness. 

"Trowa," Duo breathed, panting against his lips. His hands found Trowa's hair, tugging his head back sharply, teeth grazing his neck as his hips rolled forward. He was full, blissfully full, trembling as he moved hesitantly, lips pressing to his jaw, his cheek. "Fuck."

“Don’t--” Trowa gasped, his breath hitching, “don’t hurt yourself.” He pressed kisses to Duo’s throat, hands rubbing at his hips soothingly. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry. There’s no rush, love."

Duo keened, holding tightly to Trowa and tipping his head back, nails digging into his shoulders as he slowed, let his body settle in a lazy roll. Panting, he turned his head, pressing his lips to Trowa's temple. He was on fire, burning from the inside out, breath catching in his throat. With trembling fingers, he touched Trowa's cheek, cupped it and guided him into a kiss. His chest hitched, a broken moan falling from his lips as he moved against him. So long. He'd wanted Trowa for so long, and now he had him, and every inch of him was lit up, his cock hard and dripping between them. 

"God, Trowa, please," he panted out, chest constricted with emotion. "Need you."

Duo watched Trowa hungrily, violet eyes dark as they moved together. He was perfect, blissed out, head tipping back, and Duo pressed against him, chest to chest. Nuzzling Trowa's neck, he moaned, a hitching sob rolling through him as he twisted his hips. It was good, so good, and Duo wanted it to be more. Wanted to bring his lover as much pleasure as he could, lost in the scent of him, the feel of his cock thrusting into him over and over. 

"Please," Duo whined, tongue laving his skin. He didn't even know what he was asking for, didn't know what he was pleading for as he rode Trowa harder, body winding in smooth undulations, faster and faster, back arching. "Love, please." And then Trowa pushed Duo onto the bed, pushing back into him as he lifted his legs, thrusting into him long and hard. It was just what he needed. Tears dripped from Trowa’s eyes, landing in Duo’s hair as he bent over the boy and reached between them, hand grasping Duo and stroking firmly, every breath hitching as he thrust back into him.

"Yes," Duo cried out sharply, arching up against Trowa. He wrapped his legs around his waist, thrusting between his cock and hand, head tossing wildly on the bed. Moaning, he ran his nails down Trowa's back, clutching at him and writhing on the bed, body tense and taut and ready. Desperate for release, his cries echoing in the room as Trowa stroked him. And then Trowa was filling him, hot and thick, and Duo came with a scream, Trowa's name on his lips as he spilled into his hand, body rigid as he sobbed and shook through his orgasm, head thrown back in bliss. 

"Love," Duo keened, hips snapping against him. He slowed, legs tightening around Trowa's waist, chest heaving. Turning his head, he pressed soft, desperate kisses to his cheek and jaw, clinging tightly to him as he rode his orgasm.

* * *

 

Trowa panted harshly, sweat dripping from his skin as he collapsed on Duo. He shook uncontrollably, his breath coming in sharp hitches as he clutched Duo tightly, needing to feel him, needing to ground himself.

“Duo. Mine. Mine,” he said, over and over, as if afraid the moment he stopped, he’d be gone. That it was a dream, a very intense wet dream, and that when he woke up, he’d still be a broken man in love with a vibrant, beautiful boy he couldn’t reach.

“Yours,” Duo panted back, carding his fingers through Trowa’s hair. He clung fiercely to him, nuzzling against his cheek. They were both shaking, Trowa’s breath coming sharp and fast.  “Shhh, Trowa. I’m here. It’s okay. I’m yours, it’s okay.” He rolled them carefully, pressing against Trowa, running his fingers down his cheek. “It’s okay, love.”

Trowa’s breathing calmed as his heart rate did, his face flushed from tears and embarrassment. He didn’t know why he was crying, why he felt so… strange. He felt light, almost as if he were floating, and he leaned more into Duo, pressing his lips to the boy’s with a need that transcended pleasure. As if Duo was his air, and he was suffocating. Duo kissed back eagerly, hands cupping Trowa’s cheeks. He whined softly, hooking his leg around Trowa’s hip.

His body felt like rubber, like the only thing keeping him together was the way Duo held him right now. He was the older one, he was the one who’d seen more, had experienced more, yet in this boy’s hands he had fallen apart, had broken and shattered and been put back… he couldn’t understand what that meant. Why that was. It felt like Duo had seen straight through him, had seen  _ him _ instead of the man he presented himself as. Seen the nameless boy who’d stolen others identities to compensate his own lack of one, the man who couldn’t stay more than a couple nights in any one bed, couldn’t let his weaknesses be seen.

Duo had seen it. He felt it in the way that the boy stared at him, the way the knife glittered, the way that Trowa’s heart had pounded in his chest. Duo knew who he was, the face behind the Broker, knew his penchant for up and leaving, knew  _ him _ . He looked at Duo, and let himself be exposed, let the boy see what he wanted to see, whatever it might be. And as the tears trailed down his cheek, he couldn’t care. Duo took a shaky breath as he pulled back, eyes wide and full of wonder as he gazed at Trowa. It was a gaze he didn’t think he deserved, eyes fluttering shut. 

“‘M here, love,” he spoke softly, thumb tracing the full curve of his cheek, “I’m here, and I love you.” With a choked noise, Duo wrapped his arms around Trowa’s neck, pressing his face against him and sniffling. 

“Love you.”


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! Long time no post. I've been struggling with this one, I won't lie. There's so much fic, and so much editing, and it can be hard to get back into this state of mind. But I care about this fic, and I want to share it, and so I plod through it. It's all written, so all that's left to do is get it out to you guys. Thank you majorly to everyone who's stuck with me through this. Your comments and encouragement mean more than I can say. 
> 
> In the interest in getting this up quickly, this chapter is un-betad. I've gone over it a couple of times, and it looks okay to me, but I don't always catch anything. Feel free to drop me a line if you see any glaring errors. 
> 
> And now. Onwards. We've got about 5k words of smut before we get back into some drama so. I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> <3,  
> Amberly

He wasn’t sure what had changed, exactly, but something had. There was a comfort in Duo’s presence that hadn't been there before, a tension that faded around the boy. They had finally joined as one body, had come together, and then had cried together. Trowa was still embarrassed by his meltdown, the way he had fallen to pieces over  _ sex _ , but then, it had been so much more. It was more than the fact that he’d been able to take Duo. It had been so much more, and he could feel it still when he touched the boy.

He’d fallen to sleep shortly after, still inside of Duo and exhausted physically and emotionally. He had woken up to Duo in his arms still, still close together, still clutching each other for dear life. He couldn’t get back to sleep, but he hadn’t tried to move, instead just watching Duo breathe, watching Duo dream, amazed that it hadn’t been a dream himself. The sticky residue of sex still covered him, and he wanted to shower, to clean himself. But he didn’t want to wash away the scent of Duo, the reminder that it had been real.

It was good to be back among his people, walking the streets and talking to the people who were much like him, or used to be like him. Concerns, questions, and information flowed from their lips, letting him know the state of things around them in such a troubling time. The government had, indeed, tried to hurt them; it was nothing new. But Trowa would be going to remind some of the leaders exactly who held the power in St. Petersburg. Scandals amongst politicians were plenty, and all it would take was a soft, careful reminder that if they upset Trowa’s people, they would upset Trowa. A threat to remind them that if they liked their lavish, and comfortable lifestyles, they’d better stop infringing on those protected by the Broker’s name.

His people had been concerned with his absence, as well. While he wasn’t expected to travel at specific times, he came back every couple of months or so, and it had been almost half a year since he’d last visited. He let out a little information to calm their hearts, that the Broker had come across a major problem, and it was only recently that it had been resolved enough to allow travel again. As the sun began to set, he took the gifts the locals had offered him, often accompanied with a warm, “Welcome home,  _ Nanashi _ ” he began to make his way to Duo’s, hands full of enough liquor to make a drink that was both iconic and ironic. 

“I hope Duo likes White Russians,” he murmured, standing outside the apartment. Hilde had sent him a message with the address, and all he had to do was reach out and knock. So, taking a steadying breath, he did. 

Duo opened the door with a grin, throwing himself in to Trowa’s arms and hugging him tightly around the middle, pressing his face against his chest as he jostled around the various items in his arms. 

“Hey,” Duo purred, stepping back to beam up at him. “Come on in, love.” Taking his hand between his own, he tugged Trowa into the apartment, shutting the door behind him and gesturing towards the large open living room. “What do you think? Dinner is already ready. I have vodka, and tea, and wine. What would you like?”

“Tea, please,” Trowa replied, setting down the bags he was carrying and digging through them, brow furrowing. He’d been given something he didn’t have the space for, but Duo might want it. It was a jewel-encrusted egg, hand-painted and embedded with little precious gems from the mine where the woman’s husband and daughter worked. The moment he’d received it, he knew it was perfect for Duo, a small, glittering reminder of Russian he could keep forever.

“One of the ladies in the market offered me this, but I have no place for it. Would you have use of it?” Trowa asked, presenting the egg. Duo took the egg with obvious delight, holding it with careful fingers. It was beautiful, intricately wrought, and he nodded decisively as he held it. Trowa’s cheeks pinkened slightly, and he glanced away. 

“I… never know what to do with things like this. The people offer me gifts,” he explained.  _ But I have nowhere to keep them. _ “It is rude to turn it away, as the gift is offered in exchange of protection, a token of their appreciation of their safety and good fortunes. If I were to reject it, it would be spitting on their gratitude.” The other bags held similar gifts, but most were food or clothing, things he could use. Knick-knacks, jewelry, and other such items held no practical or immediate value, and he had a storage unit full of things he didn’t know what to do with.

“Well, I’m keeping this one,” Duo told Trowa, smiling at him. Crossing the room, he set it on a bare shelf, centering it with pride. Almost vibrating with excitement, Duo turned back to Trowa, nervously wrapping a lock of hair around his finger. 

“I bought you something, too,” he made his way to the stove, filling the teapot with hot water and swirling it, then pouring it out. “It’s by your seat at the table.” Glancing up at Trowa, he bit his lip, flush spreading over his nose. And then he looked away, lowering the tea-filled bell into the pot and filling it with hot water again. Trowa blinked, looking over at the table and seeing the box by the plate he assumed was his. Carefully picking it up, he opened it. Two blades, folded closed, rested inside. With careful hands he lifted one, flicking his wrist to let the blade flash out, locking smoothly into place with a practiced motion.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured appreciatively as he handled the blade. It was heavy in his hand, the weight counter-balanced well for throwing, and flicking his wrist again, pressing the release, it closed with a whisper of metal against metal. It was exquisite, and his throat was dry as he looked up at Duo with a deep fondness in his eyes.

“You like them?” Duo asked, tilting his head shyly to the side.

“These are perfect. Thank you,” he said, sincere. 

“Good.” Practically glowing, he toweld his hands dry, taking the pot of tea to the table. There was a glass of wine next to Duo’s place, and teacups at both of them. Settling in his seat, he looked up at Trowa and gestured. 

“Sir and eat, Nanashka,” it was almost an order, Duo’s voice too firm for argument. “It’s cold outside, and you’ve been busy. You need food, and tea. And vodka, later. Maybe.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 

Trowa sat down, placing the box down beside the plate and letting the knives rest in plain sight. They shimmered as the artificial light struck them, and it was quite distracting, drawing his attention every time he moved to take a bite. The food was delicious, and he told Duo as much as he ate, his heart picking up pace.

This was different than the first time they’d had dinner at Duo’s apartment in Chicago. This time-- he wouldn’t make Duo cry. Hopefully. He didn’t want Duo to cry, and he was giving Duo the attentions he wanted. There shouldn’t be misunderstandings, weakness on Trowa’s part, because he had accepted Duo’s heart and kept it close. Looking up into Duo’s eyes, he tilted his head thoughtfully. A similar scenario, but so different. There was a different kind of tension in the air, a different…expectation. One that had Trowa nervous, but excited.

“Have you ever had a White Russian before?” Trowa asked, eyes raking over Duo’s face, mesmerized.

“No,” Duo admitted. 

“I’ve never really had...much,” his eyes darted back to Trowa, the flush spreading down his cheeks. “Just wine, and scotch sometimes.” 

Trowa smiled, standing and taking their plates, pressing a kiss to Duo’s forehead as he bent down to pick up his dishes. 

“I will teach you then. Though I myself am not a very white Russian, I still enjoy the drink.” He gave a crooked grin as he pulled out the ingredients, lining them up on the counter. Duo giggled a little, rolling his eyes at the joke. A wide variety of liquors now decorated Duo’s counter, most of them a variation of vodka, and Trowa shuffled through cabinets to find two glasses. Duo leaned his elbows against the island, watching him with his chin in his hands, a smile curved over his lips. He talked Duo through it as he poured and mixed, handing one glass to Duo and keeping the other for himself, leaning against the counter and sipping at it lightly. Duo took it with a wider smile, standing straight and taking a sip.

The feeling of anticipation was thick in the air, an undercurrent of desire twirling around them as they moved, almost dancing between their bodies, trying to close the space between them, to tie them together, and make them one again. Having been able to feel Duo around him, a sensation he hadn’t experienced before, had made him begin to crave the next encounter to the point of impatience for the next time that he’d be able to claim Duo in such a way again.

“I like this,” Duo commented, cocking his hip as he leaned back against the counter. “I really like this...something about Russians.” There was a heated tease to his words, his eyes glowing as he cast a glance to Trowa. “They’re easy on the tongue.”  

“Hmm, is that so?” Trowa mused, voice thick and rich with amusement. He finished his glass, setting it down on the counter and stalking forward, arms coming to box Duo in as he leaned down, hair framing his face and leaving both eyes visible. He inhaled sharply as he leaned into him, looking up at him with a flush darkening his cheeks, spreading over his nose and down the back of his neck. Trowa let his eyes drift across Duo’s face, resting on his lips before coming up to his eyes once more, shifting closer, sliding a leg between Duo’s. His lips parted, pupils dilating as Trowa’s leg slipped between his thighs. Shivering, he set his glass down, reaching back to grip the counter, body arching forward.

“Would you say you’re familiar with going around and sampling Russian delicacies? Or did you have a particular one in mind?” he purred, hand coming up to cup Duo’s chin, tilting his head back as he stared him down, eyes darkening with desire.

He turned his head to nip his palm, looking sideways up at him through his eyelashes. Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, Duo nestled his cheek in Trowa’s hand, giving him a hot, hungry look. “I think I definitely have a favorite...but I’d have to taste more to be sure.” 

“Well, you’ve had Russian pastries, Russian liquor, Russian cuisine,” Trowa murmured, fingers playing in the fringe around Duo’s face. “You’ve felt the cold Russian winter,” he continued, “and warm Russian clothes. You’re sleeping in a Russian bed. What would you say is your favourite among those?”

He leaned down, lips brushing Duo’s as he looked him in the eye, whispering roughly against his mouth. “Or was it the feel of Russian hands on your cock, Russian lips wrapped around it? Or the sensation of a Russian cock inside you, filling you up and making you want more?” He pressed his thigh against Duo’s groin, rubbing, teasing. “Well? What would you say was your favourite?”

Duo whimpered, straining towards Trowa as he spoke. He rubbed back shamelessly, breath hitching, pupils blown wide with arousal.  "You," Duo breathed out, voice husky with want. "You're my--my favorite." He shuddered, reaching out to hold Trowa's hips, lips parted.  "Please," he was breathless, almost begging, looking up Trowa with glazed violet eyes. "Please."

Trowa grinned as he trailed an arm down Duo’s back, tightening and lifting him with a single arm, seating him on the counter as he pushed him back, leaning over him and sealing his lips in a kiss. 

He brought both hands up to cup Duo’s face, holding him close even as he pressed their bodies together, spreading Duo across the counter. He could feel the hardness pressing back against him, and he rocked up against it.

“What it is you want, little death lord?” he asked, voice low and rough, the words breathed into Duo’s parted lips. “Tell me, I know your Russian is good enough to ask.”

“You,” he panted out, shuddering beneath him. “I want--I wanna ride your fingers. Please.” 

Trowa hummed in agreement, bringing an arm back around Duo, tucking it under his hips and lifting him as he reached for the bottle of vodka that Duo had on his counter - not one of the several he’d been given as gifts. This was one Duo had purchased, had considered, and it was worth tasting. Duo’s eyes widened, his arms going immediately around Trowa as he picked him up. With both in hand, he carried them to Duo’s bedroom, carefully laying Duo down on the sheets and kneeling over him, straddling his legs as he worked the bottle open. Duo looked breathlessly up at him, hair spread over his pillow, arms above his head.

“Would you like a taste?” Trowa asked, sipping a little of the clear liquor and swallowing. It burned as it went down, warming him from his core as it settled in his stomach, bringing a flush to his neck and chest. He leaned over, taking another sip, and then sealing his lips over Duo’s. Duo slid his hands in to Trowa’s hair, hips arching up, eyes fluttering shut. Trowa let his hand trail down Duo’s chest, the other one holding the bottle upright as he chased the liquor into Duo’s mouth with his tongue, groaning low in his throat. With Duo distracted, he popped the button on Duo’s jeans, thumbing it apart and pulling the zipper down, reaching in to the tightly fitting jeans and cupping Duo from the front, grinding his palm against him as he stretched his fingers against the length of his arousal, pressing it down onto his stomach as he leaned back up.

“You have good taste, little lover,” he teased, spreading the fingers of his other hand against Duo’s waist, feeling the hard curve of his cock against his palm. “But it’s not your mouth I’m going to play with today. Clothes off, Duo.” It came out sharp, no room for argument, and he slid his fingers back together, catching around the head of Duo’s cock and squeezing it between his ring and middle finger.

“Fuck,” Duo moaned, thrusting up against Trowa’s hand. He stripped his shirt off eagerly, tossing the sweater to the floor and lifting his hips, trying to wiggle out of his jeans even as Trowa touched him, already wrecked and panting against the sheets. Lifting his hand to help Duo tug his jeans off, Trowa stripped him and letting them fall off the edge of the bed as he moved back to straddling Duo’s legs, taking in the sight of Duo stretched out along the sheets, flushed and panting and desperate. It was beautiful, and with a smile Trowa took another drink, raising a brow as he offered the bottle to Duo.

“Would you like some?” he asked, low and teasing as he crawled up Duo’s body, bending down and biting at his lower lip. “Do you want me to give you more?” 

"Da," Duo gasped out, the Russian stiff. His tongue flicked out, brushing over Trowa's lips and teeth, hands desperately clutching at his shoulders. "I want more, please. Please, Nashi." He tugged at Trowa's hair, lips parted in anticipation, the long line of body undulating under him. Trowa shook the bottle, now down to three-quarters full, as he tilted his head. He tipped the bottle back, taking a generous mouthful and swallowing half, before grasping Duo’s chin as he forced their lips together, nudging his tongue between his lips and coaxing his mouth open. The liquid flowed from him to Duo. His lover drank greedily from his mouth, thrusting up against the teasing grind of his hips. The burn of liquor on his tongue had him pulling back with a laugh, eyes dancing as he rocked himself back against Duo’s length. His hands were fisted in Trowa's hair, legs splayed open on the bed, and he blushed down his chest, the hard nubs of his nipples glinting in the dim light. 

“You are probably wanting me to do something with that, right, my Shinigami?” he asked, putting the lid back on the bottle and setting it on the nightstand with a heavy hand. It echoed in the room, and he pulled open a drawer, hoping that the lube was in there. It was, and he grabbed the familiar bottle, giving Duo a light  _ tsk _ as he shuffled backward, pressing his lips against his quivering stomach.“Someone was hoping he would be getting something tonight, da?” Trowa teased. “You were right.”

"Please," Duo whined out, baring his throat, legs spreading wider as Trowa uncapped the lube. He nudged his nose against Duo’s length, trailing his tongue along the underside and flicking the tip against Duo’s slit, tasting him. He nipped lightly at his skin, soothing it with his tongue as he breathed in the scent of Duo’s arousal. His lover moaned and arched, hands sliding in to Trowa's hair, the rasp of his tongue making his thighs tense, his stomach quivering. "Oh god."

“Do you remember the dressing room?” he purred. Bringing his mouth closer to the curve of Duo’s ass, blowing air along the seam, Duo’s hole still hidden from sight. “You know, I went home that night, frustrated and angry at myself. And then I made myself come to the memory of this pair. I had four fingers pressed inside of me, my hand wrapped around my cock, and I came. Again and again. For fucking  _ four weeks _ I couldn’t get the thought of you wearing these god-forsaken panties out of my mind.” He bit the soft flesh of Duo’s ass, and when he let got, he kissed the indented teeth marks left behind, quickly turning red and bruised.

“I’m going to do that to you now, little lover. I’m going to put four fingers inside of you, and wrap my other hand around you, and let you feel the same way I did for those four weeks. Does that sound fair?”

"Nashi," Duo keened, hips rolling invitingly. He tugged at Trowa's arms, biting his lips and panting hard and hungry. "Please. Please give it to me."

Trowa poured lube into his hand, letting the bottle fall to the bed as he pulled Duo's hips onto his lap, legs splaying open on either side and leaving him exposed. Panting, Duo wiggled his hips, trying to get in to a better position. He was limp, almost doll-like in the way hs sprawled across Trowa’s lap, exposed and eager. 

"Such a little hole," Trowa murmured, bringing a slick finger to the puckered flesh and smearing some of the lube around it lazily. “ Is it not amazing how much it can stretch? How a little opening can swallow my cock, my hand even?" Slipping a digit inside, he watched. Duo was moving, gasping and moaning, thrusting back against the teasing touch with a flush spreading over his cheeks. His  hands went over his head, gripping the headboard as he tried to rut against Trowa’s fingers, needing the friction.

“See? Look how eager you are to feel me stretch you open, to fuck you senseless with the same hands I touched myself with. This is the hand I use to fuck myself with, you know,” Trowa said, painfully casual as he slid a second finger in, twisting his wrist sharply, his eyebrows furrowed as the words spilled past his lips without thought to what he was truly saying. “I prefer to use my left, that way if someone walks in on me, I can still throw a knife. I can do  _ that _ with both hands, but my aim is better with the right.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the flushed head of Duo’s cock as he spread his two fingers wide, making room for a third. Licking the precome from Duo’s stomach, Trowa pushed a third finger in, watching as Duo tossed his head back. He writhed under the attention, babbling brokenly in a mix of languages, the syllables tangling over each other as he pleaded desperately for more. Trowa’s blood rushed hot through his veins, his senses hazy and heavy as he slid the fourth finger into Duo’s more-than-willing body. It was beautiful, watching the boy become utterly wrecked under him, falling apart even without the hot press of Trowa’s member inside of him. The sense of power it gave him overwhelmed him, something he’d so rarely felt in the bedroom, and it spurned him on. Trowa ran his tongue over Duo’s stomach, then sealed their lips together in a kiss, fingers fucking him so hard it left his wrist aching. 

“I have all four in,” he whispered, voice rough and rasping, his other hand brushing the sweat-dampened bangs away from the edges of Duo’s face. He nuzzled eagerly against Trowa’s hand, mouthing at it, drawing two fingers into his mouth to suck lightly, teeth grazing the pads. “That means I can do the other part I promised. Do you want me to touch your cock? To make you come?” As he asked, his hand drifted down Duo’s chest, flicking at the hardened nubs with a nail, toying with the jewelry there before sliding even further down, dipping into his navel. His lover was responsive, keening wildly with each touch, the muscles of his stomach fluttering wildly. “Do you want me to touch you, little killer?”

“Touch me,” Duo’s begging was breathy, his legs spread impossibly wide as he writhed against Trowa’s fingers. “Please!” 

It was time to stop teasing. Trowa ran his hand over  Duo’s cock, slicked with lube and precome,  his movements settling into a mirror of his other hand thrusting inside of Duo. His hands moved together, fingers keeping the same rhythm of his hand, sending his lover closer and closer to bliss with each touch of his hand. 

“Come for me,  _ Shinigami _ ,” he coaxed, moving to take Duo’s mouth again with his own. That was all it took. Duo came apart with a scream, fisting Trowa’s hair and kissing back desperately. His hips snapped into Trowa’s hand, back against his fingers, whole body bowstring tight. Spilling endlessly into the hand around his cock, Duo moaned and writhed, nails against Trowa’s scalp. 

“Trowa,” his voice was utterly wrecked, eyes glazed and hooded. He watched as Trowa slipped his fingers out of him, bringing his other hand up to his lips and tasting the boy’s release. It wasn’t sweet, but it was addictive, and he lapped at his fingers lazily as he looked over the utterly wrecked body under him. Even spent and sated as he was, Duo’s cock twitched as he watched him lick his fingers, hooded eyes dark and hungry. His own body was flushed, sweating, and shaking, and he gave a satisfied hum.

“Welcome home, little demon,” Trowa crooned softly. Now he was hard. Now he was aching, the humor of the situation drawing a wry smile to his lips.  “Look who has  come late to the party,” Trowa murmured, unable to mask the shock. 

"Fuck me," he panted out, giving Trowa a pleading look from under his lashes. He drew his lower lip between his teeth, spreading his legs open wider in invitation. "Please. Please, Nashi, or let me taste you, please." Duo fit his hand to the front of Trowa’s pants, rubbing insistently. It was too much for Trowa to even consider doing anything else. He stripped quickly, pulling Duo’s hips up, kneeling between his legs. His hands grasped the boy’s thighs, keeping him spread open and at his mercy, and Trowa paused for a moment to appreciate the view. His cock was beginning to harden again, his hole was twitching, stretched and red and begging for Trowa to fill it. Lube and semen stained his skin, even where Trowa’s hands touched him, spreading more, and he followed the trail of mess to a heaving chest and flushed skin, dark eyes and messy hair. Swollen lips begging to be claimed.

“You are beautiful, my sweet killer,” Trowa murmured, thrusting slowly into him. That Duo’s body was so small as to be held up by one hand had Trowa groaning softly in his throat, even as he yanked Duo closer, both hands going back to Duo’s hips to pull him all the way in, easily sinking into the hilt. After having stretched him so much, for so long, fucking him was effortless. 

“Yes,” Duo panted, wrapping his legs around his hips. “Yes, like that.” Duo was too undone to seduce Trowa. To try and breathe into his ear the rampant fantasies he’d kept himself company with, in the days before they could have this. All he could do was moan, tilting his hips, moving back against Trowa with an eager ferocity. “God, I want you so bad.”

“I am right here, love,” Trowa murmured, pulling Duo up into his lap so that they were sitting up, Duo wrapped around him as he knelt, his legs under him and giving him leverage to thrust upwards. His hands stayed around Duo, supporting him and keeping him upright even as he pounded up into the pliant body. “I am right here, there is nothing to worry about. I am right here.” 

He pressed his lips across Duo’s face, down his throat, and then up to his lips, sealing them together as he thrust up into Duo again and again, the boy bouncing in his lap from the force. It felt so good, and Trowa gave a low groan in his throat, hands tightening on Duo’s sweaty skin, the cum and lube on his hands not helping him find purchase. Panting, he pushed Trowa back, forcing his shoulders against the bed. 

“Let me,” he panted out, hair a wild tangle, damp and sticking to his slick skin. Sitting up, he tossed his head back, panting and resting his hands on Trowa’s stomach, body moving in smooth, lazy circles. Trowa could feel him tightening his body around his cock, arching his hips, working him over with a hazy look of bliss on his face, eyes glazed. All he could do was hold on, hands on Duo’s hips as he watched him ride him. It was maddening to watch, desire surging through him as his lover continued to moan. “You feel so good. So good inside me.” 

“You look so good,” Trowa murmured encouragingly. He stroked his fingers along the curve of Duo’s hip, reaching back and squeezing the supple flesh of his ass, feeling the hard muscle hidden underneath. His body tensed, his back arching slightly as a wave of pleasure rode over him, a cry leaving his lips as Duo tightened around him.

"Love being full," Duo panted, hips jerking forward at Trowa's squeeze. His body rolled faster, hips moving in quick, tight circles, dark eyes fixed on Trowa's face. His cry made him moan, made his hard cock twitch, and Duo wrapped his fingers around himself, stroking as he moved his hips, flushed lips parted. "I wanna make you feel good. Wanna make you come undone. Let me see you come, love. Please? For me?" It was pleading, Duo's voice breathless and wheedling as he rode Trowa's cock, his body rippling around him. Duo tightened himself around Trowa's cock as he drew up, moaning eagerly. "Fuck, yeah. God, you fill me so good." 

Trowa let out a ragged cry as he came, his hips jerking up into Duo as his thrusts stuttered into stillness, eyes glazed and breaths coming in short pants. His hands tightened and loosened where they gripped Duo. He let his hand move down to stroke at Duo, wanting him to finish, to come, to feel as good as Trowa felt right now.

“So good, you feel so good,” Trowa panted, watching Duo’s face even as the post-orgasmic haze settled over him, a lethargy coating his movements. “So good, love.” Duo arched as Trowa came, filling him. It was hot, perfect, and he swelled in Trowa's hand as he stroked him, coming with an eager cry. His back arched sharply, Duo rode out his orgasm with breathless moans, his whole body rolling. And then he slumped, falling against Trowa's chest, panting and wrapping his arms around his neck. 

"God," he panted, pressing soft, tender kisses to Trowa's cheek and jaw. "God, I love how you fuck me. I love how you touch me." Duo ran his fingers down Trowa's chest, purring happily.  Trowa hummed in response, turning them over to lay on their side, his arms coming to wrap around Duo’s waist and hold him close as his heart beat settled into a calmer rhythm. He pressed his lips to Duo in a slow, lazy touch, a smile forming absently as he let his hands wander along the exposed skin of Duo’s back. 

"Tomorrow," his killer murmured, fighting sleep, wanting to talk. "Tomorrow, I can go with you. If you want. I want to protect you." It was groggy, half asleep, and sincere. Duo meant every word, and he pulled back to look seriously at Trowa, eyelids drooping. "I will not let anyone hurt my Nanashka." Trowa hummed, running a hand through Duo’s hair and pulling his forehead down to rest on Trowa’s shoulder. He was tired, and the desire to sleep was pulling him under.

“I trust my life to you, Shinigami,” Trowa said, his words slurring as he curled an arm protectively around the boy. They would start meeting with people much more dangerous than the criminals in Chicago, and he felt safer knowing that he wasn’t going alone. Before, he had no one he trusted enough to watch his back. Now, he not only had someone he trusted to watch his back, but could also watch their own, and take any lives that needed to be reaped.

 


	24. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Hello! New Chapter! This is basically fluff before the real shit starts up again. Okay, well. It's as fluffy as it can be, given the situation. Trowa and Duo are cute, snuggling, and getting ready for a showdown of SOME kind. What kind? You'll have to wait and see! 
> 
> My goal for this year is to have this completed finished, which means--it means I'm rushing it a little, I won't lie. This fic is two years old at this point. I need it done. So I'm doing my own editting and there's no beta, and I'm sure there are small spelling/grammar things. Please feel free to shoot me a line if you see them!

**** The next morning broke cold and sunny, light streaming through the windows of the bedroom. Duo woke to a blissful soreness, his body aching deliciously. He ran his fingers through is lover’s hair, lips brushing his forehead.. Inhaling against his scalp, Duo savored his lover’s scent, then slid out of bed, stretching lazily and padding to the bathroom. Pulling his hair into a messy bun, he showered quickly, cleaning the remnants of pleasure from his skin, lost in a dreamy haze as he remembered every kiss, every touch. Happiness wasn’t something Duo was used to, but somehow he’d managed to find it, following it halfway across the world. Lips curved in a smile, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, then wrapped himself in a soft silk robe. 

Stopping by the bedroom, Duo tucked Trowa in firmly, then made his way to the kitchen. Trowa had cleared the plates the night before, and Duo settled them in the dishwasher, quickly scrubbing what few pans remained. And then he set to work on breakfast, slicing fruit and whipping up a bowl of scrambled eggs. Trowa would have a busy day. Duo wanted to go with him. To watch his back, keep him safe. There would be a fight about it, he thought. At the least, Trowa would protest. But regardless, Duo was going to make sure Trowa had a good breakfast in him. Someone had to take care of him.  Singing softly to himself, Duo cooked the eggs, adding cheese and bacon crumbles to them. 

Duo felt Trowa before he saw him, a slight change in the air pressure. He giggled softly as arms went around his waist. Trowa was still mostly wrapped in the blanket, clinging to him and mumbling something that resembled a greeting. It was cute, how groggy he was in the mornings, and Duo took the eggs off the heat with a smile, turning in his arms to look up at him. The food was done, the bar set for two. Everything was in place, and here, in Trowa's arms, was his place.

"Good morning," Duo chirped, sliding his arms around his neck. "Sleep well?"

“Mmm,” Trowa hummed, bringing his forehead to rest against Duo’s, eyes still closed. “How can you be so awake so early?”

"I like mornings," Duo beamed at him. Trowa was adorable like this, soft and so fuzzy around the edges, and Duo wiggled under the blanket with him, nuzzling at his jaw as they stood together. It was quiet, peaceful, and he enjoyed it. Their life was fraught with peril, and Duo appreciated these quiet moments more than he could explain. Especially knowing they wouldn’t last. That sooner or later, Zechs would come for them. Smiling up at his lover, he pushed him gently towards the bar.

“You made breakfast,” Trowa stated, belatedly. “We should eat it, da?”

"Da," he teased, a perfect imitation of Trowa. "You go sit, Nanashka. I'll bring you a plate."

Trowa moved without a word, sitting at the counter and pulling the blanket around him, draping it so his hands could be free to move while not uncovering him. With eyes half-open, he watched Duo move around in the kitchen, plating the food. When it was set in front of him, he picked up his fork, poking at the food for a moment before putting a bite in his mouth. Everything about it was just a moment delayed, just a little too robotic. Still half asleep, Duo thought to himself, settling beside him at the bar.

“You spoil me, love,” Trowa murmured, stealing a second kiss before turning back to his breakfast. 

“You deserve it,” Duo purred into the kiss, leaning into Trowa’s warmth. Trowa deserved anything he could give him. Running his fingers over Trowa’s cheek, Duo kissed his jaw, then settled back on his chair, happily eating the omelette he’d prepared. Trowa was half the reason Duo had learned to cook. He wanted to be able to do this, to take care of his lover whenever he had the chance. It was nothing Trowa had ever asked of him, and Duo didn’t know that he would ever admit it to him, either. But he liked being able to take care of his lover, to spoil him when he had the chance. It balanced things, he thought. They took care of each other, and feeding Trowa was his best chance to show that. It didn't take long for Trowa to finish his food, and when he had, he pulled out his phone and started reading the messages that had come in the night.

“What are our plans?” Duo asked, watching him. 

"Tonight," Trowa murmured, "we will be dining with the Bartons." He put his phone away. "Did you still wish to join me?"

Duo nodded, pushing back his own finished plate. Of course he wanted to join him. He didn’t want to let Trowa out of his sight. Russia was strange and unfamiliar to him, and while he knew Trowa knew it, knew Trowa had his bearings, he didn’t have his own. It worried him. Made him more protective than he would have been if they were in Chicago. 

“Yeah,” Duo reached out, lacing their fingers together. “I want to go. I need to get a look at the people I’m going to be protecting you from.” Trowa could take care of himself. Duo had no doubt of that. But he didn’t need to anymore. Now, he had Duo. Duo would take care of him, protect him, keep him safe. Standing, he took both plates, pressing a quick kiss to Trowa’s cheek. “I may have to go shopping, though. I didn’t bring a lot of formal wear.” 

"I also have a second job for you tonight," Trowa said, "and it doesn't require discretion." He turned, looking at the young assassin. Duo shivered as Trowa stalked forward, his eyes darkening. A large hand cupped Duo’s face and tilting it upwards. 

"I need you to...  _ supervise _ the dinner prep." He gave a smile that lacked warmth. “It would make for a terrible evening if we were to drop dead after the first course, da?” He stroked his thumb along Duo’s cheek. Leaning in to his touch, Duo closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. They’d spent enough time together that he could recognize the shift. Could feel his lover as he slipped into the deadly role of Nanashi. 

“I trust my life to you,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to Duo’s forehead. “Will you do it?” Opening his eyes, Duo looked up at him with deadly fire in his eyes, lips curving in a smirk.

“Of course,” he pressed a quick kiss to his palm, reaching up to stroke the back of Trowa’s hand. Nosing it, he inhaled deeply, looking at his lover through the fringe of his lashes. “I will protect you, leannan. Always.”

“You are too good to me, love,” his lover said softly, gazing at Duo with open fondness. Duo returned Trowa's look with unabashed affection, even as Trowa pulled away, hand trailing along Duo’s shoulder and down his arm to lace their fingers together. Apart, but not alone.

"I am yours," Duo spoke softly. "Completely." Trowa's ownership was absolute, and nothing like Zechs'. It filled him, a surge of ice and fire through his veins. 

“Let me shower and get dressed. We shall go find you clothes for tonight.”

"I promise to try to behave this time," he teased, violets eyes shimmering in mirth. It was a half-truth. Duo would try. But he knew that he wouldn't succeed: Trowa was too tempting. He wanted him too much. Duo still feared that Trowa would disappear. That he would change his mind and leave him alone again. Letting Trowa's hand drop, Duo pulled away, smiling up at him. 

"Shower, leannan. I'm gonna finish cleaning up breakfast and dress."

Trowa hummed, heading back through the bedroom. While he was in the shower, Duo dressed simply, jeans and a heavy black sweater, opting for warmth and comfort. Tonight, he’d dress up. But for now, he was content with something simpler, silk hiding next to his skin. Trowa came out toweling his hair, drops of water still clinging to his golden skin. Duo admired him openly, sprawled out on his couch, watching as his lover made his way through the kitchen, searching for him. 

“When do you want to go shopping?” Trowa asked. “I have no plans besides dinner.”

“Can we go now? I’ll have some...other preparations, after,” Duo winked. Getting ready for battle, so to speak. Nails and hair and makeup and everything. The works. These were the kind of people who needed to be impressed. He needed to be perfect, impeccable. Absolutely deadly. Duo had a couple of ideas in his mind already. Things he wanted to wear, that he thought might work best for what he was doing tonight. “Maybe we can grab lunch while we’re out?”

Trowa nodded, looking around the room. He frowned, patting his pockets as he scanned the kitchen, and then he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Do you know where my keys are?” he asked, cheeks darkening slightly. He bit his lip, casting his eyes around again. “I swear… you think I’d be more careful than this.” He shrugged, rueful, as he started shifting through his gifts from yesterday. “Ah, lunch. Da, we should eat out. There is this place I know. The tea isn’t as good as Madame Long’s, but they have good desserts.”

“I have them,” Duo grinned, hand dipping into his pocket. He pulled them out, swinging them on his finger and winking at him. “I’d say let me drive, but I don’t know how.” Duo tossed the keys to Trowa with a rueful grin, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn’t something Zechs had ever thought he needed to know. Shoving his hands in to his pocket, Duo rubbed his toe on the ground, giving Trowa a shy look, lips curving. “Unless you wanna teach me?”

Trowa caught the keys, swirling then around his finger as he listened to Duo. Then he flung them in the air, snatching them, before tossing them back to Duo.

"You start now." Trowa grabbed his coat, shrugging it on. Duo caught the keys easily, eyes widening. He bit his lip, looking earnestly at Trowa, then whooped. With a wild laugh, he darted for the door, yanking on his boots with surprising speed and bouncing on his heels. Shooting an eager look over his shoulder, he nodded with his head. 

“Come on, then, Nanashka,” he urged. “Let’s get going. We have a busy day. Lots to buy and do.” Driving. Trowa was going to teach him to drive. Excitement boiled in his stomach, eyes bright and dancing with giddy delight. 

“Da,” Trowa teased, dropping a kiss on Duo’s forehead as he pulled a hat over his head. “We will be gone most of the day. You will be driving the entire time. The more you do it, the easier it will be. When you’re comfortable enough, we will get you a license, and then you can get your own car.”

He held the door open for Duo, leading the way down.

It did get easier as he went. Duo had to adjust the seat, shooting his lover a dark look as he laughed, and then he was off. He didn’t hit anything, and by the end of the day he was confident in his abilities, laughing and joking and sneaking his hand into Trowa’s even as they drove. It was a whirlwind, spent shopping and taking lunch in the cafe. Duo couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more at ease, more relaxed, leaning in to Trowa as they walked, carrying shopping bags of clothes and shoes. He had more than enough for the evening, his plans already sent in motion, and he pulled back into the parking spot with an impish look on his face. His eyes sparkled, cheeks flushed pink, leaning in to brush his lips against Trowa’s jaw. They got out of the car together, Duo collecting all of his bags.

“I gotta kick you out now,” he teased, running fingers through Trowa’s hair. “I have some more preparations I need to make, and I want to surprise you tonight.”

“Dress to kill,” he teased, stepping backward and away from Duo. “Call me when you’re ready. Dinner starts at eight.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Duo beamed at him, then slipped into his apartment. He showered again, taking extra care with his hair, then slipped on a soft silk robe and opened a bottle of wine. All of his preparations were taking place at home. It was the advantage of money, something Hilde had pointed out to him. Especially in the frozen Russian winter. No need to leave the house if he didn’t have to. 

It was only a half an hour before the woman he’d hired arrived, assistant trailing behind her. She came highly recommended by Hilde, and Duo took to her immediately, offering her a glass of wine while he explained what he wanted. He stumbled through the Russian until she laughed and patted his hand, switching the conversation to English. Luckily, Duo had pictures. Lots of references. The woman gave him a piercing look, and then they began. 

Hours later, it was time. The woman had left, and Duo was staring at his reflection with a smug look. He looked good. Really good. His hair was drawn away from his face, curled loosely and hanging in gorgeous waves down his back, with teasing wisps brushing his cheeks and jaw. She’d done his makeup with careful hands, highlighting the natural contours of his face, the color of his eyes. He was smooth from the shoulders down, even his arms bare of hair, the lace of his dress brushing enticingly at his skin. It was a dark, deep plum, the color bringing out his eyes, and under it was black satin, smooth stockings and a lace garter. 

**I’m ready.** Duo sent the text with a smile on his lips, carefully adjusting the black velvet choker, making sure the heart was centered at this throat. There were black stones in his ears, stilettos on his feet, and knives in his purse. And there was a thick, floor-length black faux-fur coat, something that would keep him warm as they moved from car to venue. Trowa, he thought, would like his outfit. He would like the lingerie even more. With a surge of exultant triumph, Duo pulled away from the mirror, looking impatiently down at his phone as he waited for Trowa’s reply. 


	25. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The change is coming, y'all! This is one of my most favorite scenes (followed by my second most favorite scene), and it marks the end of the Russian Honeymoon. This chapter gives us Duo and Trowa both in all their predatory glory, and while editing it was a pain in the ass, writing it was a dream. No major warnings for this chapter! We're moving in to the final arc here in the next couple of chapters, and things will be moving fast. 
> 
> Major thanks to everyone who's stuck with this fic while I've battled out the editing. Especially a shutout to kangofu_cb, who is a beacon of encouragement.

Trowa knocked on Duo’s door with a small box tucked under his arm. He was anxious about tonight, not for his own safety but Duo’s. He knew the boy could take care of himself - he was, after all, a professional killer - but Trowa was used to these dinners, the veiled threats and hints of business masquerading as a formal party. He was used to navigating these battles. Duo would be a new element, a new twist that was different from all the previous years of dancing with criminal politics .It would also be the first time Trowa ever brought a date, and it would show his enemy a potential weakness. If any of them went after Duo, they’d be in for a deadly surprise. He worried regardless. 

“Nanashi,” Duo greeted, lips curving automatically as  he opened the door, rising up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Trowa drank in the sight of him, all done up and beautiful, There was a lethal edge about him, even in all that beauty. Something about the sharpness of his eyeliner, or the redness of his lips. Snorting, Duo settled back on the ground, raising one carefully sculpted eyebrow. 

“Even in heels I have to raise up to kiss you,” it was petulant, a pout settling on Duo’s lips. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, bending down to kiss Duo again, mindful of his makeup. “Is that better?” Trowa teased, pressing another kiss to his nose. Duo laughed as he wrinkled his nose, a flush spreading across it. He brushed Trowa’s cheek with manicured nails, the black lacquer dark against his skin. Placing his hand over Duo’s, Trowa let his fingers trailing down his hand to his bare arms, smooth and silky. The box digging in to his side reminded him of his present, and he pulled back, holding it out. “Remember Madame Bukova, down from the market? Her husband and daughter work in the mines, she’s a blacksmith. She made these, and offered them to you as a gift.”

The box was heavy, Duo’s eyes widening as he took it. Duo bit his lip a little, stepping to the side and opening the box with trembling fingers. 

“For me? Why--for me?” Duo looked up at Trowa in shock, his violet eyes wide, full of emotion. “Why would she make something for me?” Trowa’s smiled softened as he tucked a loose curl behind Duo’s ear. He understood Duo’s confusion, could empathize with it, and as he spoke, he kept it honest and blunt, knowing the boy would appreciate it more than platitudes.

“You are a new person associated with the Broker. While people might not know your position, they understand through your association with me that you are high up. She does not know your importance yet, but she wants to make sure that you remember her, and her family, if she is ever in trouble. She is, in a sense, currying favour with you.” He trailed his fingers along Duo’s cheek, down his throat, and rested it against his nape, thumb stroking his collarbone as he continued. 

“We are also very closely knitted, unlike in Chicago. Here, we only have each other to rely on, only each other to trust. You are family, and she is giving you a gift as a new member of that family. A gift is never just a gift in Russia. It is a token, a promise, and if accepted, expected to be returned. If you open this, and keep it, you will be expected to return a favour.”

Trowa’s smiled sharpened. “But it can be good. It might mean that if her family is in trouble, you will offer aid. She doesn’t understand your role yet, but she understands that you’re dangerous. After all, you’re with Nanashi, who is the closest they ever get to the Broker. Many offer me gifts upon my arrival to secure their own favors.” Duo smiled, leaning in to Trowa’s touch as he opened the package. Taking a look into it, his breath caught. Knives. Long and thin and delicate, with gorgeous hilts styled to look like hairsticks. Duo bit his lip, running his fingers over them with reverence. 

“They’re perfect,” he breathed, pulling away from Trowa to take one out. He cradled it in his hands, inspecting the blade, marveling at its sharpness. Smiling, he set it back in the case, then set the case on the table by the door. “She can have any favor she wants, for something like that.” Drawing his thick coat around himself, he slipped his fingers into Trowa’s hand. “Let’s go, Nanashka. I want to get there early, so I can stalk around the kitchen.” 

“You spoil me, little killer,” Trowa felt his chest warm with affection, and he pulled Duo closer, pressing his lips to his hair and breathing in deeply. Offering his arm, he smiled down at him. “May I have the honour of escorting you tonight,  _ Shinigami _ ?”

“You may,” it was teasingly formal. Duo took Trowa’s arm with a smile on his lips, moving with fluid grace out of the room and into the hall, pausing only to lock the door. Duo’s perfume was light and flowery, teasing Trowa’s senses as he arched up to press his lips to Trowa’s ear. “Will they search me, tonight? I may need to hide my knives.”

“No, the only person who will lay their hand on you tonight is me,” Trowa murmured back, lips brushing the shell of Duo’s ear. His pulse was racing, Duo’s scent, his warmth, his body pressed against his, teasing and taunting and tempting him. He slid a hand down to Duo’s waist, cupping his hip and pulling him flush to his side. 

“How shall I address you tonight, my demon?” he asked, opening the car door for Duo. It wouldn’t take long to get there. The Barton’s were the closest to St. Petersburg. Trowa looked over at Duo as he drove, having a hard time keeping his eyes away. He suspected it was intentional, and he felt his lips quirking in a slight smile. His lover knew how best to distract a crowd, something that even Trowa was not immune to. 

“You can call me whatever you like, Nanashka,” he purred. “Anything but my name.” 

“I wouldn’t risk you like that. But… I meant shall I be introducing you as…” he paused, struggling to form the words in English. It was hard to describe the difference in Russian as Duo was still learning. He wondered if Duo understood the difference when using a name, his continued innocent use of  _ Nanashka _ was such an example. “Mister. Madame.”

He didn’t want to make Duo feel uncomfortable. He didn’t  _ care _ if Duo dressed either way, wanted to be called one or the other. What mattered was that Duo was happy, and he struggled to find words to explain that. Turning down the main road, which they would follow out of St. Petersburg, Trowa reached over, lacing his fingers with Duo’s. Duo squeezed Trowa’s hand, smiling. His eyes softened, losing some of their deadly edge. He tilted his head, then shrugged, finally, lips still curved happily. 

“I don’t care,” he admitted. “Whatever you pick will be fine. Just don’t--switch them. And do not use “it,” or something like that. It may be easier to go with ‘madame.’ I am dressed like quite the lady.” There was a tease at the end, sparkling violet eyes darting to meet Trowa’s for a moment. “Honestly, leannan. Whatever you want is fine.” 

Trowa nodded, tracing his thumb along Duo’s skin as he thought. It made sense. Duo, once he’d warmed up to the idea of buying what he liked to wear, didn’t seem to care about any of it. Gender, appearance, Duo dressed either in what was comfortable or what was useful, and it made sense that Duo didn’t care how he was addressed either.

“Well, then, kazimira,” Trowa teased lightly, “you will be the fairest of them all.” He leaned over to press a kiss to Duo’s cheek. His lover took the opportunity to lean in, nuzzling behind Trowa’s ear. Duo inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his nose to his skin. 

“You smell so good,” he bit his lip, nosing down the length of his throat. Pulling back, he shot Trowa an impish look. “You wanna know how many knives I’ve got on me? Or you wanna wait and find out?” 

“I trust you,” Trowa said suddenly, unable to look at Duo as he said this, afraid he’d be unable to finish. “I trust you to not only protect me, but yourself as well. Do not think otherwise. I know your strengths, and you are more than a decoration by my side.” Duo pressed a careful kiss to his lover’s cheek, purring softly against his skin. 

“You say things like that and it’s impossible not to love you,” Duo murmured, shoulders straightening as he sat. “I’ll be careful.”

“They should not bother you, as you are my guest. That will have thrown them off balance, made them more wary of starting trouble. They fear me, and the Broker, and that will be to your advantage.” Trowa said, pulling to the large double doors at the front of the Barton mansion. A valet came to take the car, and Trowa handed it over, stepping around to open the door for Duo.

Tonight, Duo was not only his bodyguard, but his date. He would treat Duo with every ounce of dignity and respect that Howard and Madame Long had beaten in to him. They might be here on business, but wanted Duo to enjoy himself. How often could one claim to have dined with a head of the Russian Mafia and come away intact? This would be a good memory for Duo, and he intended to treat him like the lady he was tonight.

“Madame?” he said, offering his arm and giving Duo a warm smile. He was confident in Duo tonight, and he was sure that he wouldn’t have a problem fitting in and making a name for himself. Duo took Trowa’s arm, stepping out of the car. He moved with infinite grace, a secretive smile hovering over his lips. There was awe on his face as he took in the giant mansion, leaning in to Trowa’s side. 

“This is almost gaudy,” Duo spoke in an undertone, lips motionless. Just loud enough for Trowa to hear. “Where are the kitchens? I want to get there as soon as possible.” Trowa nodded toward a door, which he knew from past experiences lead to the hall that would end up in the large, open kitchen. Bringing Duo’s hands up to kiss his knuckles, he motioned for one of the many servants, quickly uttering instructions in Russian and releasing Duo’s hands.

“Ivan will take you to the kitchens. If you wish to return at any time, he will bring you to me. Do have fun.” Trowa pressed a kiss to Duo’s cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear and giving him a soft, secret smile. “If you suspect anything at all,” he murmured low, “don’t hesitate to call it out. If the cook won’t sample his own cooking, you shouldn’t eat it, either.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Duo replied. Pulling away at last, he turned to look imperiously at Ivan, one eyebrow raising. Ivan lead him to the kitchens without comment, letting Duo stride into the room with his head raised high. 

Once Duo was out of sight, he let the cool, calm persona of Nanashi overtake him, steeling himself for entering the sitting room and playing the game of verbal sparring with the Barton Syndicate. They’d try to entice him with information, which was why Nanashi had spent so many days preparing, wanting to not be put into a position where the others had the upper hand. In his line of work, it was best to stay two steps ahead of those with power. While his main source of revenue and security came from exchanging information, he had been playing the game long enough to know it was never good to find yourself in a position of needing a criminal organization’s favour.

Instead, he’d made himself become the one they catered to, the one that held all the cards and distributed them as he pleased. They sought him to curry favour, instead of the other way around. This was what kept Nanashi safe, kept him alive, and kept him thriving. Some considered him as dangerous, or even more so, than the main syndicate leaders around the world, but he found that to be nonsense. He was no more dangerous than a back-alley mugger. He didn’t deal any other business except exchanging information.

When Duo reappeared at Trowa’s side, flashing him a sharp, predatory smile, he stood up, taking Duo’s hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“There is nothing in the food,” his lover asserted. 

Trowa brought an arm around Duo’s waist and turned him to face the Barton’s. It was a move that not only showed that he was Nanashi’s guest, but that they were close. If anything happened to him, they would be facing Nanashi’s wrath - and thus, the Broker’s - directly. Duo leaned into Trowa’s touch with a purr, even as he looked around the room. His eyes were intent, the narrowed eyes of a monster stalking its prey, or protecting its young.

“Kazimira, this is the Barton family. Kazimira was kind enough to accept my offer to join me for dinner tonight,” Trowa introduced, eyes as cool as his tone. 

“Please to meet you,” Duo greeted them softly, silkily, flashing a sweet smile. He pulled away from Trowa to take his hand, lacing their fingers together and looking up at him with a warm, hungry look. “Shall we eat? It smells delicious.” 

“Da,” he replied, not moving to pull his hands free even as the other watched, calculating. He had noted the way his Duo had tensed at the sight of Miss Catalonia, a guest that Trowa hadn’t originally known was joining them. She was, however, the niece of Dekim Barton, and it wasn’t unusual for him to invite her over.

“Shall we eat, or shall we stay posturing in here? I would rather my lady not be kept waiting.” The threat in his words were clear. He wasn’t going to play their little games, he had done enough pretending and placating with hums and nods as they ‘talked shop’ so to speak. He didn’t grin, but he felt the satisfaction as they rose to their feet, glasses of vodka being set down to be cleaned up by the servants as they moved to the formal dining hall. He kept their hands entwined as they made their way after them, not willing to let any of those associated with the Bartons at his back.

* * *

 

Duo wondered if Trowa had any idea how terrifying he was. Duo suspected not, grinning viciously as they followed their hosts into the dining room. The food was set out, something he had insisted upon. If it was there for everyone, he could count on it not being poisoned. And in the hand Trowa was not holding, he had a fresh roll of silverware, something he had washed and prepared himself. They would not be able to poison him that way, either. It was paranoid, borderline extreme. But Duo didn’t care. What he cared about was keeping Trowa safe. 

“Here, Nanashka,” Duo murmured, handing Trowa the silverware as they came to the table. “These are safe.” He smiled up at his lover, sparkling and deadly, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room. Trowa mattered. Just Trowa. Trowa, and making sure that everyone here saw him as a weapon. A partner. Something that Trowa had permission to use--permission that could be revoked at any time. 

Duo ate dinner with a beatific smile on his face. It was delicious, of course. He’d known it would be, and he didn’t hesitate to compliment the chef--even if he’d been breathing down his neck an hour earlier. Next to him, Trowa ate as if unaware of the tension in the room. And maybe he was. Duo was not, and he reveled in it, parrying skillfully with the Bartons and ignoring Dorothy completely. There was a moment, before dessert, where she almost said something. Almost cut through all the tension to address him directly. The razor edged smile he sent her stayed her tongue, and Duo laughed, bright and sparkling, and turned his attention to one of the daughters. She wasn’t half-bad, just young. Inexperienced and too willing to mirror what she was being shown. Duo didn’t fault her--how long had he been the same. 

Trowa’s constant attention left him blushing. It was unsettling to the others, something he could see in the way they avoided looking at him. The way their eyes slid over him to glance away. It filled him with wicked glee, sent him leaning in to Trowa, turning to brush his lips against his jaw as he spoke to him, words that were not quite a whisper--not quite meant to be private. 

“The dessert,” he purred, husky and teasing, “will be delicious. You will love it, Nashi.”

Trowa smiled, sharp and wicked as he trailed his fingers up to Duo’s jaw, ignoring the rest of the table with an air of deliberate intent. “I do not doubt that, Kazimira,” he murmured, voice pitched to carry across the table to the not-so-subtle eavesdroppers. “I’m sure I will greatly enjoy it.”

The plates were being taken, the meal having come to an end, and Trowa stood, offering his hand to Duo. It seemed the real business would be conducted now in the lounge, and so Duo stood, taking the hand as they followed the procession. 

“I have, ah, another engagement. So I will keep this short,” Trowa stated, taking a seat on a two-sette lounge, an arm coming to wrap around Duo’s back and lightly dance his fingers across his waist. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, observing them as a cat would a mouse it was considering eating, or playing with its food. 

The way the room shifted, following his movements, acquiescing to his power, submitting to the absoluteness of Trowa’s authority, had Duo’s heart racing. Never before had Zechs wielded that kind of power. Never before had Duo witnessed this level of intimidation. He settled next to Trowa with glowing eyes, back arching at his touch. Shinigami was leashed, just barely, by choice. By Trowa’s will, Duo behaved. By Trowa’s will, he settled for looking at the people across from them, instead of growling or snapping at their heels. The Barton family was facing two wild cats, deadly felines who had no trouble hunting among humans.

“Very short,” he purred, giving his lover a hungry, side-long look. “But I am sure there is not much to talk about. It’s not like they’re unable to manage on their own. Is it?” He turned to the rest of the group with an innocent smile, eyes wide and frighteningly devoid of emotion. That was an insult. Thinly veiled, the implication that any requests of Trowa would be made because those in the room were inept. Duo did not apologize, and he would not take it back. 

These people had once, long ago, hurt Trowa. Duo wasn’t about to let them off easy.  

The meeting did not last long. 

“You did wonderful,” Trowa murmured as he got back in his car. He drove away, his hand coming up to rub at the back of Duo’s neck. “You had them shaking in their seats.”

"Speak for yourself," Duo flashed a grin at Trowa, leaning in to his touch. It had been nerve wracking, more stressful than he'd wanted to admit. But Trowa made it easier. He put the fear of the Broker into them, kept watch at Duo's back so that he didn't have to. Leaning between the seats, he trailed his lips down Trowa's jaw, teeth scraping down the tanned column of his throat. 

"When we get home," he teased, "you can search me for knives. See how many I have on me."

"I'll be thorough," Trowa promised, trailing his fingers up Duo's leg, teasingly sliding under the hem of his dress. "Check every nook and cranny, leave no spot untouched." He stroked the smooth skin above the top of the stocking. Duo’s legs parted immediately, lips sealing around Trowa’s pulse. He nipped the skin lightly, then shuddered, letting out a breathy moan against the shell of Trowa’s ear. And then he closed his legs, trapping Trowa’s hand and leaning away from him, violet eyes dark and glittering.

"I wonder how many I'll need to search for?" Trowa teased, and the drive home seemed to be going too fast, yet not fast enough.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he smirked, winking at him. “Don’t you like to be surprised, Nanaska?” It was teasing, all of Duo’s body leaning away from his lover, even as his eyes beckoned, lips parted hungrily. The drive home was too long. Already too long, and Duo thought briefly about making Trowa pull over so he didn’t have to wait. 

“Normally, no,” Trowa answered, honest even as he focused on the road again, not moving his hands from their hold between Duo’s thighs. “But when it comes to you, I make many exceptions.”

When they reached Duo’s building he drove around to park, turning the car off and undoing his seatbelt with one hand while squeezing Duo’s leg with the other. He reached over, cupping a hand around Duo’s neck and pulling him in for a hard, desperate kiss. They were parked. Duo knew they should get out, go upstairs. Fall into his bed. But he couldn't move. Didn't want to move, kissing Trowa back eagerly, his hands fisting the front of his shirt, body rocking against him.

“You were amazing,” Trowa murmured against his lips. “So amazing. They were terrified of you, I am glad. Let them fear you.” He pulled him closer together, hands grasping him tightly as he bit along Duo’s jaw. “You look your best when you’re wanting to kill someone,  _ Shinigami _ .” Trowa's words were husky, and Duo's cock twitched beneath the hem of his dress, his thighs parting again and he slid over the middle of the seats, straddling Trowa's lap and pressing him back. The words elicited a strange kind of tenderness in him, his cheeks flushing with delight. No one had ever thought this part of him was beautiful--terrifying, yes. But beautiful? Something to touch, to kiss? Only Trowa--only Nanashi, who matched him in feral lethality. 

"So search me," he commanded, reaching for Trowa's hands, placing them on his knees. "See what you can find."


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short update of just smut. Seriously. It's just smut. That's all we've got here. 
> 
> This chapter dedicated to kangofu_cb, who has been the biggest and best supporter this fic could ever have asked for. Hope you like the knife smut <3.

Trowa hummed an agreement, moving the seat back to make more room. He trailed his hands up the length of Duo’s leg, teasing the spot where skin met stocking. Slipping a finger under the left stocking, he pulling it far enough to let it snap back against the skin relishing the buck of Duo’s his, the way his breath caught. There was a whimper as his hands moved further, stroking over the stockings, working his way towards the garter belt’s clips. He unclipped the left stocking, and with a wicked grin he slipped out a knife, twirling in his fingers and then handing it to Duo hilt-first. His lover smirked as he found the first knife, taking it from him and rewarding him with a biting kiss.

“Found one, little killer. Shall I keep looking?”

"You had better," Duo spoke sweetly, batting his eyelashes at him, the sharp edge of the knife teasing over the curve of his jaw. Trowa’s eyes darkened as the flesh-warmed metal trailed along his skin, his pupils expanding so only a sliver of dusky green could be seen around them. "If you don't find all of them I might be tempted to use them against you."

The taunt inflamed him. Urged him on, and Trowa slid the stocking down until it was bunched around Duo’s ankle, running his hand back up the long line of skin until his hand rested on his hip. He repeated the actions on the other leg, stroking the skin even as he undid the clip, finding another knife. Bringing it up, he tapped it against Duo’s cheek before pressing it flat to his coloured lips in a kiss.

“Two down,” Trowa murmured, his voice light and breathy as he watched. Duo pressed his lips to the knife, then parted them, carefully taking it into his mouth. He sucked lightly, hips rolling forward, cock rubbing against Trowa's. It should've been cold. It was winter, in Russia, the snow deep around them. But Duo was hot, sweat beading on his skin as he leaned in to Trowa. He drew back from the knife, tongue snaking out to curl around it as he did. Shooting Trowa a wink, he tossed his own knife on the seat, fingers plucking at his shirt.

"Two down...how many left?"

Trowa bit his lip, rocking up into Duo as he slid both hands up to his hips, the dress sliding up to bunch around his wrists. He let his fingers play with the straps of the garters, plucking at them, and pulling out the third knife he found hidden in the band, eyes glittering as he showed it proudly, his cheeks and neck flushed. He placed it in his own teeth, hands working to move the dress higher, even as one hand fondled the front of Duo’s panties, grinning around the blade in his mouth.

“I’m not sure if this is a knife or not,” he teased, stroking the hard ridge of Duo’s cock. “What weapon do you have hidden here, love?” His words were muffled by the knife, but his hands were sure and confident as he teased Duo. There were fingers in his shirt, undoing the buttons with restless impatience as  Duo moaned, thrusting wantonly against Trowa's hand, a shudder rippling through him even as he parted the cloth, nails skimming his over his skin as he rutted against him. Trowa could feel his cock with in his hand, his own hips grinding up against him.

"Do you want me naked?" Duo asked, pitching his voice low and innocent, eyes widening a little. "I can take it off. Let you see me, touch me. I wanna feel your hands on every inch of my skin. I wanna feel you inside me."

Trowa around the knife as  he worked it between his teeth, bringing their clothed groins together as he slid his hands further up the dress. He needed to put the knife down, he knew. But his hands were otherwise occupied, tweaking the hard nubs of Duo’s nipples, pinching and rolling them as he tilted his head back. Duo arched into Trowa's hands with a cry, hips rolling helplessly against him. Trowa watched him hungrily, heat pooling in his stomach, electricity shooting over his skin at every move he made, every shudder, every moan.

A trickle of blood worked its way down Trowa’s chin as the knife cut into the seam of his lip a little deeper, and he tilted his head back down, locking eyes with Duo as he slid his hands all the way back down to his hips, curling around and bringing them closer together, his lips coming up to touch Duo’s, the knife still caught in his teeth. It was the kind of kiss only a killer could appreciate, and Duo did, flicking his tongue out at his mouth before pressing their lips together. Moaning and he rocked against him, hands sliding into his hair, fisting the stands and tugging sharply.

"Nanashi," Duo panted, tongue darting over the knife, caressing the corner of his mouth as he reached for the knife, tugging it from between his teeth and tossing it onto the seat. He ground his hips sharply down against him, a hard, tight circle, panting and biting his lip. "You still haven't found them all."

Trowa groaned, slipping a hand up Duo’s back and scratching at the skin desperately as he ground up, head tilting back as pleasure overtook him. There weren’t many more places to hide them. He’d touched very part of Duo he could reach, sliding his hands higher into his hair in his quest. It was empty, and he shuddered, licking in to Duo’s mouth as he ran his hands down his neck, fumbling with the collar around his neck. He’d barely noticed it before, but he did now, fumbling it open and removing the knife hidden there by so much loose, lovely hair.

“That is four,” he murmured. “I found four.”

"That's all of them," Duo sliding his hand down Trowa's chest as he took the knife, kneading his hard cock through his pants, moaning against his lips. "I'm not waiting." It was purred, deft fingers undoing Trowa's pants, stroking the edge of his jaw with the knife still in one hand. Slipping one slim hand in, he stroked him teasingly, pulling back just a little. Just enough for Trowa to see his face, all predatory violet and flushed cheeks, swollen lips. "You're going to let me ride you right here. And you're going to fuck me until I tell you to stop. Aren't you?"

“Yes,” Trowa panted, head tilting back over the headrest as he thrust into Duo’s hand. “Yours, whatever you want. I will do what you want, Duo. I am yours.”  Duo inhaled sharply, responding with a savage kiss, growling against Trowa’s lips as he thrust his tongue into his mouth, rough and claiming. Hands reaching for his bag, he pulled back, panting and rising on to his knees. Duo’s eyes glittered as he turned, looking over his shoulder and handing a small vial of lube to him.

“Prep me,” he ordered. “Don’t take the panties off--just move them to the side. Then lube me up and get that gorgeous cock in me.” Trowa nodded, his hands coming to take the lube and open it. He pushed the thin silk panties aside and froze, eyes widening at the glimmer of purple he saw.

“Oh god, Duo,” he moaned, fingers moving down to press at the jeweled plug, turning it, slowly moving it back and forth inside of him. “You-- you spent all night--”

“For you,” Duo panted, lips curving wickedly. “I’m ready. Been ready all day. Just need you.”

“Fuck, Duo,” he groaned, kissing the expanse of Duo’s back. Duo braced his legs on either side of Trowa’s thighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the steering wheel. Trowa wasn’t going to make him wait, tossing the plug to the seat with the knives, tongue dragging along the column of Duo’s throat.

“Now. Fuck me.”

Duo keened as Trowa thrust into him, his hips arching sharply. One hand tight on Duo’s hip, Trowa gripped the seat with the other, using it to leverage himself, each buck of his hips harder, faster. With his elbows on the steering will, his head tipped back, Duo was impossibly arched, pressing into Trowa’s lips with an eager moan as they skimmed over his back. The whole night had been leading up to the this, the two of them in the car, and Trowa wrapped trembling fingers around Duo’s cock, stroking it frantically as he rested his forehead against him, thighs bunching as his hips snapped upwards.

“Come,” Trowa rasped. “Come for me.”

“Nanashi,” Duo moaned, turning his head. Reaching back, Duo tangled his fingers in Trowa’s hair, leaning against his chest and drawing him in for a kiss, writhing on his lap. It was too much, sending Trowa over the edge, filling him with a startled cry. The car was full of heat and sweat, the scent of sex, and Duo was lost, mindlessly thrusting into Trowa's hand, coming with a wild shout and spilling over his fingers, staining the delicate silk of his stockings.

It took a few moments to come down. When he did, Duo was slumped back against him, sticky and covered in sweat and semen. He brushed their lips together tenderly, stroking his hands over his thighs, up the gorgeous length of his dress. Wrapping his arms around Duo’s waist, Trowa held him close as their kisses gentled, pressed kisses along Duo’s neck and shoulders.

“Ready to go inside now?”  The only reply he received was a nod. Trowa worked Duo’s dress down to make him decent again, sliding out and buttoning his pants back up. Using Duo’s coat as a blanket, he wrapped him in it and cradled him close, holding him with one arm as he got out of the car. Duo nuzzled against Trowa, clinging to him as they made their way into the building and up the stairs.

“Where are your keys, love?”

Duo fumbled with his purse, seeking his keys. Shivering in the cold, he held the keys out to Trowa’s, lips curved in a sated smile. He took them with a soft chuckle, green eyes warm with affection as his lover rubbed his cheek against Trowa’s shirt. It had been a long night with an explosive ending, and he was looking forward to getting in to bed. A nice shower, and then bed, he thought, shutting the apartment door behind him. Tomorrow--well, tomorrow would come. And he would deal with it then.


	27. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, Heero and Wufei weren't going to have POV chapters. But while editing, I realized that not only do they add their own richness to this fic, they also fill in a lot of gaps. Adding them back in, as well as adding back in Relena and Quatre's POV, is giving me so much joy--and inspiring me to work harder on this fic. I won't be tagging any pairings beyond the main pairing (Duo and Trowa), but you might see other ones developing around the sides. 
> 
> So! Enjoy this glimpse into what's going on in Chicago while Duo and Trowa are in Russia. 
> 
> Massive MASSIVE thanks to chronicwhimsy for her beta work on this. You are very, very appreciated m friend <3.

Wufei dressed hurriedly, throwing on his jeans and sweater. Heero was gone. He had not been in his hotel room when Wufei’d knocked. The intention had been to bring the man coffee, see if he wanted breakfast. Instead, he’d found Heero’s room a mess, clothing strewn all over the place. There was a map on the table, circles and crosses on various spots. It didn’t take long for Wufei to figure out what was happening. Heero was looking for The Broker. Again. He was stalking the Porch, seeking his target with single-minded determination. 

It looked like he was heading straight to Madam Long’s. Wufei had cursed upon seeing it, and hurried to dress. Now, he hurtled out of the hotel and onto the frozen Chicago streets, making his way towards the little tea shop with panic rising in his throat. Madam Long would, it was very possible, eat Heero alive. And if she did not, Duo would. As soon as he found out that Heero had hassled her. 

It took forever to get to the tea house. Much longer than he wanted. Madame Long, he knew, was more than capable of dealing with Heero. She had more than enough skill to handle the likes of him. What worried him was how that could rile Heero up. If she managed to rouse his suspicions, he would worry her like a dog with a bone. There would be no putting him off. And that, Wufei suspected, would be the dangerous thing. Shinigami had laid claim to the tea house. Regardless of the Broker’s involvement, Shinigami would see that Madame Long was protected. Even at the expense of Heero’s life. 

“There you are,” he burst out, opening the door. Wufei ignored Madame Long,  hoping the woman wouldn’t take insult. He sat immediately across from his partner, leaning in to hiss across the table at him. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?” 

“Is this man with you?” Madame Long asked, turning to pour a second cup of tea, fixing her dark gaze on Heero. “It will be $16 now. You pay for his, for making him come.Then you,” her gaze switched to Wufei, “will take this nosy brat with you.” With a swiftness that didn’t match her age, she reached out with a wooden spoon, hitting Wufei lightly at the back of the head. 

“You just assaulted a federal agent, ma’am.” Heero moved to stand, drawing his gun, face red and hot with anger. “Put your hands where I can see them.” Madame Long merely laughed, rolling her eyes at him. 

“Idiot boy. Put that away. You come in here, in my house, asking for trouble. Asking dangerous questions. Don’t you know where you are? Are you that stupid? Your parents must be ashamed of you,” she said, her voice growing cool. 

“Put that away,” Wufei hissed, glaring at his partner as he moved to stand in front of him. “You’re going to get all of us in big trouble.” Wufei sent a guilty look over his shoulder as Heero holstered his gun, somewhat ashamed of his partner’s treatment of the old woman. Madame Long could take care of herself, but she was old. And she was his mother in law, still. 

_ “Sorry, mama,” _ he spoke softly, the language stiff and heavy on his tongue from lack of practice. “ _ I’ll take care of him.”  _

_ “You had better! Make this idiot pay for his food and get him out of here,” _ she said, voice brisk. It softened as she reached out and patted his cheek, before pointing a finger at Heero. “If I see you in here again, you will regret it. Ask my son-in-law if you want to learn what happens when you stick your nose into dangerous places.” 

“Do you understand the man you’re working for?” Heero burst out, glaring sullenly at Madame Long over Wufei’s shoulder. “He’s dangerous, and should be behind bars before he gains any more power. He’s a criminal, and you’re assisting a criminal by keeping him hidden from the federal government.”

“ _ Wufei _ ,” Madame Long called out as they left the tea house. “ _ Keep your little cop friend under control. Shinigami has found a new ally, and this one won’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who causes trouble. _

“Heero,” Wufei almost growled, gripping his partner’s hand and shoving him towards the door. “Shinigami protects her, as well as the Broker.” It was a long shot. They were both familiar with Shinigami. Wufei had no intention of mentioning the boy to his partner. He was an innocent, a pawn used by Zechs, and while Wufei had no doubts he would kill to protect the woman standing in the cafe, he still couldn’t imagine such a soft-looking boy killing for any other reason. 

“You will end up with dealing with both of their wrath.” He took a deep breath, and then let it out. “And mine as well. She is my mother in law, and I will protect her.” He could feel Madame Long watch them go, her arms crossed over her chest, a flicker of pride in her eyes as she watched him manhandle Heero out of the tea shop. 

“Your mother in-- you’re married?” Heero asked, bewildered. Wufei sighed, clamping his hand on Heero’s arm and walking him back towards their hotel. This was the downside to having told him the truth. Now, he would have to explain his past. Wufei wasn’t sure he wanted to. But Heero, he knew, was implacable. There would be no way to avoid it, not now that Wufei had brought it up. 

“No,” Wufei said stiffly. “I am a widower.” He paused at a street corner, sinking heavily onto a waiting bench. It was a bus stop, but there were no buses in sight. Rubbing his temples, he shot Heero a look, then looked straight ahead. “My wife was Madame Long’s daughter. She was killed many years ago, caught at the wrong time between two gangs. Gangs the Broker’s presence keeps at bay. I don’t agree with everything the man does, but the people who work for him, the people he sees as under his protection? He cares for them.” Wufei’s brow furrowed, expression turning intent. What did she mean, Shinigami had a new ally? Shinigami, for all respects, was dead. He was just Duo, now, working at Madame Long’s tea house, living under the protection of the Broker. His eyes widened in realization.

“Shit.” 

“I’m sorry--What is it?" Heero asked, switching from sympathy to alert wariness faster than Wufei thought possible, his hand twitching toward his gun. Again. His own fury rose as he whirled on his partner, drawing himself up to his full height. 

“Get your hand off your gun,” Wufei snarled at him, eyes going flat. “Goddamn it, Yuy. What is your problem? We are in  _ public _ , and we are out of uniform. Do you have any idea what could happen if you decided to draw your gun on a civilian?  _ Again? _ ” He was sick of his partner’s attitude. Standing up, he glared at him, hands fisting at his side. Too much of Heero’s prejudice was personal. Too much of his behavior now stemmed from losing a lover. Leaning in, he lowered his voice, eyes darting to the mouths of the alleys around him. 

“Do you have any idea where we are? The Broker inspires a lot of loyalty,” he spoke firmly, with no room for argument. “And he inspires it because he takes care of his people. Because he gives them an alternative to a life of crime. You need to put your personal feelings away, Heero. They’re going to get you killed.” Heero flushed, hand dropping back down to his side. 

“He might operate with good intentions, but it doesn’t make it right. I’m not going to start a fight, though,” he ground out, crossing his arms. Wufei knew better than to trust that statement. “There is no excuse for being a criminal. Let’s get out of here. He would have shown up by now if he was here.” He turned his back to Wufei, shoulders tense as he stormed back towards the hotel. 

Wufei followed behind Heero in silence, all too aware of the rage simmering in his partner. He took the Broker as a personal insult, something to be eradicated at any cost. And to a point, Wufei understood. While the Broker did not typically commit any crimes, he was responsible for the information others used to commit them. The man had his fingers in multiple pies, all while remaining neutral. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to cross paths with the like of Shinigami--unless the rumors that Zechs had tried to have his pet put down were true. 

“Heero,” Wufei spoke softly as they stood together at a crosswalk, reaching to put a hand on his partner’s arm. He squeezed gently, standing next to him and looking at the ground. “I understand your zeal. While I appreciate what the Broker does for the neighborhood, my in-laws included, he is not above the law. But you cannot barge into a civilian business and wave your gun around. Would that not make you the same as the criminals we endeavour to put behind bars? Madame Long will not press charges, but that is not true of others. I’m your partner. It is my job to have your back. That includes reminding you of the laws you swear to uphold.”

Heero sighed, leaning his head back to look up at the grey winter sky. Tilting his head to look at his partner, he gave a self-deprecating smile.

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean I like it. Come on, this lead was a bust. Let’s head back and regroup.” He took several steps forward before pausing. Without turning around, he said aloud, “Thanks, Wufei,” and then kept striding forward. Wufei allowed himself a small smile, trailing behind Heero. It was not much. But it was more than he had expected. Heero did not like to admit fault. That he had, that he had thanked Wufei, said more than perhaps he knew. Wufei nodded his head, moving quickly to walk next to his partner, brow drawn in thought.

“We may have an opportunity to strike at Zechs,” he admitted. “Madame Long implied that Shinigami may have a new ally...which means that he must have lost his old one. If we can contact him, we may be able to convince him to speak out against Zechs.”  

“Shinigami, that name sounds familiar. Wasn’t he one of your pet projects?” Heero looked over, raising a brow. 

“Yes,” Wufei admitted. “But as part of a much larger problem.” He opened the door to his hotel room, waving Heero inside. Shutting it firmly, he sat at the table by the balcony, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching his legs out in front of him. “We both have suspicions about Zechs and his...proclivities. When Shinigami first appeared, it was clear he was working for Zechs. But no one knew who he was.” He shrugged, offering his partner a wry smile. 

“Well, officially, no one knew who he was. But many suspected the boy he often had at his side,” Wufei ran one hand over his hair, smoothing it back. “A few months ago, Shinigami disappeared. It was believed that he had been shot, a hit put on him by Winner. Of course, nothing could be proved. A short time ago, I received confirmation that Shinigami...Duo...was not dead.”

“How did you confirm this? Why is this the first time you’re bringing it up?” Heero asked, nostrils flaring with anger. “Getting Shinigami in custody should be a top priority. As well as identifying his new ties. A dangerous killer out on the loose is the last thing this country needs.”

“Because he is a child,” Wufei spoke firmly, one eyebrow raising. “A child who was “killed” by the very man who promised to cherish and care for him. He deserves a new start, after what was done to him. Technically, the boy does not exist. Not legally.” He paused, then looked away. This was the part he was not looking forward to telling him. Heero was still too close to his feelings, and Wufei could sense the anger boiling in him. Wufei sighed and braced himself for the explosion. “He’s also under Madame Long’s protection--as well as the Broker’s.” 

Heero inhaled sharply. Carefully unclipping his gun, he set it down on the end table, and took a few steps forward.

“You tell me to not pursue the Broker, then turn right around and throw  _ this _ in my face? What do you expect of me, Chang?” he asked, the rage colouring into his voice. “I have spent  _ nine years _ trying to lock this bastard away, and now you-- I can’t believe this.” He spun around, striding toward the door, reaching out to grab the handle. 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Wufei barked, standing abruptly. “I am telling you that this is information we can  _ use  _ to put Zechs away. If we can find a way to get to Shinigami, to communicate with him, we can offer to pardon him for the crimes he committed in Zechs’ name--crimes, I might add, that were committed by a brainwashed minor. This has the potential to be what we need. A way to really, truly begin to put an end to organized crime in Chicago. Or is that no longer something you care about?” He crossed his arms over his chest, setting his jaw and inclining his head, glaring at his partner. “You are blinded. You are blinded by your personal issues. Tell me, Heero. What bothers you more? That the Broker is free? Or that he was able to hide who he was from you for so long?” 

Heroe paused, hand on the door, fist tightening over the knob. His back was stiff, shoulders a hard line of frustration, refusing to meet Wufei’s eyes. That alone told Wufei he was close to his mark.

“Heero,” Wufei spoke gently, banking his own rage, purposely relaxing his fingers. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. “We’ve always been able to work together, even when we don’t see eye to eye. I know you. You are very committed to upholding the law, but I’ve never seen you like this before. What is going on?” He knew a large part of it was personal. That Heero had been with him, ages past. He knew it had ended badly, abruptly, when Heero had found out the true identity of the man he was with. But ten years was a long time to hold a grudge, and even Heero, with all his stubborn pigheadedness, would eventually bend.

"What do you want to do first?” Heero asked finally, his voice quiet and subdued as he let his hand drop from the doorknob. “This is your show, you take the lead. What do you propose as the first course of action?”

“This is our show,” Wufei corrected quietly. “We’re partners. We work together.” He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Heero intently. The man wasn’t telling him everything. But Wufei wasn’t going to pry. Whatever demons Heero had, they were his own. He would share or he would not. Pushing would get him nothing. Crossing his arms over his chest, Wufei tilted his head to the side, lost in thought for several moments. 

“Let’s try to get in contact with Shinigami,” he said finally. “He was working in Madame Long’s teashop. I do truly believe he is trying to turn his life around--and if nothing else, I cannot imagine he would want to protect Zechs. Not when Zechs ordered him killed so that he could move on to newer, younger toys.”  It was sarcastic, Wufei’s lip curving in a sneer. He hated Zechs. He hated what the man did. And now that he had seen Duo, now that he had confirmation of who he was...Wufei took a breath. Heero needed to know that, as well.

“Heero,” Wufei started. “Did you ever meet Duo?” 

“No,” Heero answered, turning and leaning against the door, tilting his head back against it so he wouldn’t meet Wufei’s eyes. “I have never had a reason nor an opportunity.”

“Really?” Wufei raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you have. Didn’t you go to that big dinner last year? For Relena’s campaign? He was there.” Heero had met him. Wufei was sure of it. True, it had probably only been a handful of times. But Duo was hard to forget, and Wufei had no doubts that once Heero’s memory was jogged, the rest of his job would be easier. 

“Chang, please, there had to be at least a hundred people there, how can you expect me to remember one face--” he cut himself off, eyes widening as he finally looked at Wufei. “You’re joking. You can’t mean the kid that was there. He’s Marquise’s godson, not…”

"I suppose you missed the night his "godson" blew a business associate under the table," Wufei sighed. "I wish that I were. I don't know his whole story. But I know that Zechs picked him up off the street--and I know he was not the first. Or the last. Zechs has a new "godson," and the last I heard Duo was dead. Gunned down on a city street." It was disgusting. The man plucked innocent young boys off the street and ruined them, then tucked them away in a brothel, or worse. And Wufei had no idea how many of them had been trained to kill.

"I did not have confirmation until I ran into him at Madame Long's," he admitted. "There were always rumors that they were the same. I went to check on the old woman and he was sweeping her floor. Called her  _ mama  _ and went to make tea as he was told." It was why he thought they could easily get him to talk. Why he was convinced that the boy didn't want to kill anymore. He'd been so affectionate to the old woman, so shy and obedient once she'd stepped in. Duo was clearly unsure of himself, learning to function on his own. 

"If we can get contact him, we might be able to offer him a deal," he suggested. "Zechs tried to have him killed, and when I saw him...he doesn't know how to function as a person, Heero. He was Zechs' pet for years, and now he's been turned loose. I'm sure he has a lot of resentment built up."

"Shall we try to talk to your mother in law again? Tell her your intention? My information reveals her as a frequent host to the Broker, they're close." 

“We can try,” Wufei pursed his lips. “She’s protective. She won’t talk if she thinks we’re going to hurt him. I think she’s adopted him.” It was wry, a slight smile twitching at his lips. It was amusing to see one of the underworld’s most feared killers cowed by a tiny Chinese woman. Just as amusing to see the way she lavished affection and attention on him. If what Wufei suspected about Duo’s past was true, the boy probably deserved it. He did not confirm Heero’s suspicions. He did not need to: his information was hardly ever wrong when the Broker was confirmed. 

“It might be easier to ask her to contact the Broker,” he suggested. “I didn’t know the two were connected until today. Considering you went in this morning asking about him, it would be logical that we came to follow up. The trick will be to convince her that we’re not trying to arrest him.” 

“Then…” Heero said, clearly struggling. “Then it might be best for you to take point. I… I don’t know if I can reign my temper in, and she is more willing to believe you than me.” He averted his gaze, looking at the gun still lying on the end table. “You also defended her to me, so it will make the notion more genuine than if you were trying to back  _ me _ up in defense.I won’t say a word, if that what it takes. 

Wufei stood, crossing the room and putting his hands on Heero’s shoulders. He squeezed, looking up into his face, ignoring the fluttering his chest. The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and Wufei wished there was something he could do to ease it. Heero was not a bad agent. He was one of the best, single-mindedly hunting down criminals with a ruthlessness that Wufei had seldom seen in anyone else. The problem was the Broker. Heero was too close, too emotionally involved, and it was clouding his judgement--and his behavior.

“She will like you,” he promised. His lips quirked a little. “Let me talk first. And pay her the $16, with tip. Then she’ll talk to you.” Wufei smirked a little, then lead the way to the door. They walked back to the tea shop in silence, Wufei lost in his own thoughts. Madame Long was far from stupid. Treating her as if she was would be a mistake. Not one that Wufei intended to make. And if Heero paid, and apologized, they would be able to get what they needed without upsetting her. Something Wufei definitely did not want to do. 

Stepping into the tea shop, he was pleased to find it empty. Duo was not in, something that Wufei was not surprised about. The old woman had probably told him to stay away. Frowning a little, he noticed Madam Long was sweeping, her ancient back bowed. He stepped forward with a tut, taking the broom from her and giving her a tight smile. 

“Let me,” he insisted. “Since we troubled you earlier. We were just coming to apologize.” 

“If you think you can walk in here and try to soften me up, you’re finally learning,” Madame Long snapped back, before smiling at him. “There is much that needs to be done. I will consider talking to you and accepting your apologies after you two finish cleaning. I am going to go make tea. You may have some after you’ve finished.”

“We would be happy to help,” Wufei spoke sincerely, even as he swept. “Heero, go with her. See what needs to be stocked.”  He watched out of the corner of his eye as Heero followed Madame Long, unable to keep the smile off his face. When the old woman appeared from the back, he looked up, eyes dancing with amusement as he looked at her, still sweeping her floor. 

_ “He is handsome, I will say that.”  _ Madame Long commented softly to him, speaking their shared native tongue, settling at a table with her tea.  _ “If I were forty years younger, I’d go after him myself! _ ” She let out a loud laugh, setting the tea down and lacing her fingers together.  She gave her son in law a sly look. “ _ I imagine it makes it easier to apologize for him.”  _

The look Wufei gave her in return was horrified, a flush rising to his cheeks. He should have known. Madame Long did not miss much, and she was always on the lookout for romance. She had been the one to set him up with her daughter, so many years ago. With flaming cheeks, he set the broom against the wall, avoiding her eyes as he made his way towards the sink. Grabbing the bucket, he set it to fill, then sighed. 

“ _ He will not apologize with words,”  _ he pointed out. “ _ But he will finish any task you set him to. I am sure you can recognize the type.”  _  The tension he usually felt around his mother in law was fading, his shoulders loosening as he took the soapy bucket out of sink. Passing by the old woman, he grabbed the mop, whistling softly to himself. Cleaning wasn’t so bad. He had done worse in exchange for information, and, looking around the shop, it was clear she needed the help. Brow furrowing, he looked up at her as he began to mop. 

“Where is your little helper? He does not seem the type to leave this all to you.” 

“Nice try, son. I am not offering anything until you are done cleaning,” she said, sipping at her tea. 

“Mama,” Wufei countered sternly, stretching and then turning to give her a pointed look. “I don’t particularly care where he is, but if he’s going to be gone long, I will need to make sure I come by more frequently. You should not be left to do this all on your own. Heero and I can come back again this weekend.” He sniffed then, going back to the arduous task of mopping the floor. It took longer than it should have, and he had to wonder how long Duo had been gone. If he was truly with the Broker. Things were becoming more complicated by the minute, and he had a feeling they would not be straightening out any time soon. 

He smiled as Heero came back into the room, laughing softly as Madame Long instructed him to wash his hands and sit. Dumping the remaining water into the sink, he washed his hands, then made his way back into the cafe area, settling next to Heero.  “Their tea is very good,” he promised. “You will like it.”  

Madame Long seemed much more friendly as she poured them each a cup, and when her own was filled, she sat down, taking a sip. 

“Now, what are you here for? Surely more than to clean for an old woman and drink tea,” she mused, setting her cup down and giving her son in law a stern look. “I was not born yesterday, son.”

“I know,” Wufei smiled at her, taking his own sip of tea. It was delicious, as he expected, and gave him time to collect his thoughts. Setting his cup down, he leaned forward, earnest and sincere. “We did come for two reasons. First, to apologize. Your treatment this morning was unacceptable, and Heero realizes that. I told him I would help him make amends.” Running a hand over his ponytail, he sat back again. 

“And second, because we do need to pass information along to the Broker,” Wufei lowered his voice. “Could you tell him that we want to take down Zechs? We think we’re in a position where we could put him away. But we need Shinigami’s help. You mentioned they were allies--I assume the Broker would know how to contact him.” Wufei knew better than to ask her about Shinigami straight out. This way, it was clear that they were willing to respect his rules. To offer something in exchange for information. 

“If you had said that anywhere else I would be worried about how much longer you would be living. You can never be too careful. You don’t know who is listening,” Madame Long snapped at him as she stood up, eyes sweeping the storefront before walking over to the door, sliding the lock in place and flipping the sign to  _ Closed _ before pulling the curtain down and flipping the outside light off. “I can contact him, but I have to have more to go off of than that. The Broker is a busy man, and I’m not going to bother him with mediocre information or vague ideas.”

“Of course not,” Wufei nodded. “I have long had suspicions regarding Shinigami’s true identity. It was confirmed for me here. We understand that he is very young, and that much of what he did was at Zechs’ instruction.” Here, he paused, spreading his hands open. There was not much else he could say here, not for sure. And he would not lie to Madame Long. She would know, and there would be no use in trying to talk to her. He sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. Heero, at least, was silent, staying true to his word to let him handle it. 

“I like Duo,” he said it bluntly. “What Zechs did to him--what he made him do--is abhorrent. I have no desire to see him be made to pay for Zechs’ crimes, and I will not report him. Nor will Heero. But once Zechs realizes he is alive--once Winner realizes he is alive--reports will come. If the Broker could tell us where Shinigami is, we could approach him about his testimony. Let the Broker know that we are willing to trade for the information, if he can provide it.”

Madame Long settled a long, calculating look on him before nodding, picking up their empty teacups and placing them back on the tray.

“I will tell him. If he comes, or if he does anything about it, is up to him. Now I am sure you have plenty of other things to be doing. I am an old woman, I need to rest.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Wufei bowed respectfully, then stood. “That is all we can ask. Be well. And if your helper will be gone, let me know. It is time I started taking better care of my family.” He looked at Heero, jerking his head towards the door as she bustled into the kitchen with the tea tray. It wasn’t what he had wanted, but it was more than enough. They would have to wait, for now. Sighing a little, he offered his partner a smile, tucking his hands in his pockets as they made their way back towards the hotel. 

“And now?” Heero looked sideways at him, hands shoved into his pockets, expression intent. 

“And now we wait,” he spoke softly. “She’ll contact him, and he will come or he won’t. But she does, at least, like you now.” It was teasing, the look he sent Heero one of sparkling amusement. The answering snort made the whole trip worth it. “Come, my friend. Let’s get back to the hotel and plan our takedown.”

* * *

 

Madame Long listened intently from the kitchen. As she heard her door shut, she picked up her phone, dialing the only number she’d ever bothered to memorize. “Howard? It’s Meihui. Can you have our boy call me? I have information that could affect his little friend…”


End file.
